Q is for Quarantine
by Daygoner
Summary: A patient with unheardof symptoms rolls into Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital one night. The hospital is quarantined and the team struggles to solve the case... and get along with each other at the same time. Aiming for ChaseCam
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I watch it religiously.

**Q is for QUARANTINE**

Chapter one: Board pens and Liver Disease

The slightly erratic squeaks of the board pen, whizzing across the smudged surface of House's whiteboard was the only sound in the room. The three ducklings watched intently as a range of possible diagnoses were drawn up, waiting for House to speak. Foreman was fiddling with the sheets on his clipboard, Chase was twirling a pen between his fingers and Cameron was motionless, eyes slightly glazed. Maybe not as intent as they should have been…

**_Bang!_** House turned and slammed his stick on top of Foreman's papers, causing everyone to jump. Foreman's eyes practically fell out of their sockets and Chase couldn't help but let out a small snigger. So House threw the board pen at him, smacking his forehead. Chase became silent once more, and glared at his boss.

"Now that I have your attention," said House, in an exaggeratedly satisfied voice. He returned to the side of his belovèd whiteboard and tapped it expectantly. "Come on then; what were the results for the patient's tests?"

Cameron straightened and began reeling off a list of results. "Checked for hepatitis, cirrhosis and haemochromatosis; negative for all. Tested further for-"

"Wait, _wait_," House interrupted her rudely. He looked over at Chase. "Chase! Where is my board pen?"

The other doctor suppressed a sigh, then ducked his head under the table. His hands closed around the small cylindrical object, and he heaved himself up again, handing it back to his boss. House took it from him with a smile that indicated smugness.

"I'm sorry, Cameron; since your incompetent colleague has just realised that I actually need a pen to write on the board with, you may now continue droning on about this boring patient." House turned to face the whiteboard, and this time, Foreman sniggered.

_Why doesn't he get hit on the head with something?_ thought Chase irritably, though really, he didn't care; it all came from working with House, getting used to all the special treatments, and all.

Cameron, meanwhile, was listing all the things the patient had, or didn't have. She hadn't noticed that House was not writing anything up and was instead playing catch with his board pen, leaning absent-mindedly against his desk.

"Have you finished yet?" he asked finally, throwing the pen up and catching it. Cameron, face expressionless, nodded and straightened her papers. "Thank God," remarked House, looking up to the ceiling and clutching his chest. "I'm not sure whether I slept through your whole speech and woke up just now." The team rolled their eyes collectively.

"Ok, so we can rule out a tumour," said Foreman, "and carcinoma of the liv-"

"Oh, not you too," groaned House, sounding bored. "You're just gonna repeat everything she-" he pointed at Cameron, "- said. I think I need to refer you both to the anaesthetic department; you guys'd be great at sending people to sleep. No need for drugs – much cheaper method."

"Well," Foreman tried again, "it's obviously gotta be-"

"Nothing," House finished for him, picking up his stick and levering himself off his desk with it. "It's absolutely nothing."

Chase broke his silence. "The patient's abdomen has swelled to about this big and she's gone, well, yellow," he said incredulously, gesturing with his hands. "A woman with perfectly good health and clean medical history. How can there be 'nothing' wrong-?"

House cut in, "I never said that there was 'nothing wrong' with her. I just said it was 'nothing', meaning that all that stuff that we just mentioned-" he popped the cap off the board pen and crossed out 'cancer' and 'tumour' on his whiteboard, "-signifies nothing. They're all red herrings, leading us away from the truth."

Cameron frowned. "But you said that everyone lies – ergo, no truth."

House smirked at her. "My, aren't we getting all grown up and philosophical. Bless."

"So you're saying she's lying? About what?" asked Chase.

"Of course she's lying," answered House exasperatedly. "Haven't you heard; everyone lies."

"This doesn't make any sense," said Foreman. "All her symptoms clearly point towards hepatocellular carcinoma; development of jaundice, abdominal pains and growth of the abdomen. Surely this means that she's got cancer." He indicated to the whiteboard. "And you've gone and crossed that off."

"Plus, how can you lie about your intake of aflatoxins? Does the patient even know what those are?" added Chase.

"Lend her your dictionary," responded House. "And for the record, she's not lying about aflatoxins; she's lying about her medical history, as you so nicely put it earlier. Though, there might have been evidence of some of those toxins contaminating her food." House paused, musing. "Did you ask her if she went on vacation recently? To, say, Indonesia?"

Cameron looked baffled, and chose to ignore House's last comment on vacations (she hadn't had one in… as long as she remembered). "Her medical history? What did she lie about in that?"

"Genetic Haemochromatosis is a hereditary disease," clarified House, writing it on the whiteboard and circling it. "Child gets the defective gene from both mommy and daddy, and poof, she's got GH. Why she failed to mention the state of her parents' genes is not a mystery because I couldn't give a rat's ass about my mom and pop's DNA either. So I guess she wasn't lying after all."

"Why haemochromatosis?" questioned Cameron after sifting through her copious notes.

"Coincidentally, GH has a widespread amount of symptoms that are shared with many other diseases, including carcinoma of the liver and cirrhosis, so I suggest that you run a few more tests before I confirm the diagnosis. But I'm pretty sure I'm right," said House.

"Ok, so we get a liver biopsy and-" started Chase.

"Put the patient on a course of venesection therapy. At least, if she doesn't turn back to her normal colour by the end of the treatment, we'll know that it's not a case of GH," finished House, setting down his board pen at last. "And that, my little ones, concludes this session. Off you go now, to do your liver biopsies. I've got an appointment with my favourite oncologist, so, goodbye." House hobbled over to the door and pushed it open with his stick, walking out into the hallway.

The ducklings collected all their things together and followed him out of the room, making a beeline for whatever ward their patient was in.

"Wouldn't it be funny if House was wrong for once?" said Foreman, when he was sure they were out of earshot of their boss.

Cameron sent him a look. "The patient could end up dead. Is that what you'd define as 'funny'?"

"If it was our fault, then no; but if it was House's – hell yeah!" smirked Foreman.

The three doctors ploughed through double doors.

"Aw, Cameron, lighten up! I was only joking," said Foreman, after enduring several icy glares from his colleague. They pushed through another set of doors and turned right, down another corridor. Foreman exchanged looks of someone's-PMSing-majorly-today with Chase, who had wisely chosen to stay out of the conversation. Secretly, he agreed with Foreman, even though, deep down inside, he really admired House. But Chase was never going to admit that.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Cameron's piercing voice broke through his thoughts.

"Huh?" he asked, befuddled.

"What was that about Doctor House?" she demanded. Foreman was grinning in the background.

_Did I say something out loud?_ Chase panicked. "Uh, nothing. I didn't say anything… Is this her?" He stopped at a bed and pointed. Cameron nodded, still looking suspiciously at the other doctor, but chose to not push the point. Chase inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Admitting his respect for House was not going to be very dignifying ever since the Vogler incident.

And so, the ducklings began the tedious job of retrieving a sample of liver from their latest patient. Endless cases floated above their heads so that by the end of the day, they were all thoroughly tired and anticipating the time when they could retire home, eat a decent meal and watch TV. Unfortunately for them, a new case had just rolled into the hospital, and was about to change their night dramatically. And (not to sound too cliché) probably the rest of their lives.

As three pagers went off simultaneously in three different wards, three doctors made their ways back to House's office. And they thought that _this_ was the end of a long day…


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Two: A Vampire's Beverage

"Patient's called Joe Cosgrove," Cuddy informed the team, handing House a sheet-filled folder. He looked at her like she was mad and jabbed his stick in the direction ducklings' direction, indicating that she give the papers to them. She dumped the pile in front of Cameron, who pounced on it immediately and began shuffling through the notes.

"Bleeding from the fingers, eyes and gums..." she reported.

"Oooh, lot's of blood. Yum, yum," said House, licking his lips. "Was there a clot?"

"No, not yet anyway," Cuddy chipped in. "They managed to tie off the vessels before any damage set in. No stroke."

"That's a shame; clots are particularly delectable," sighed House. Chase's face bore an expression of mild disgust. "Stop making faces, Chase, it's a bad habit."

"The patient collapsed some time _after_ the bleeding starting," Foreman noted, peeking over Cameron's shoulder to see the notes. "Bleeding in the lungs and throat, that is; he must have been coughing up blood."

"Wow, so that's bleeding in the lungs, throat, gums, fingers _and_ eyes! Call the vampires, we can have a blood fest!" exclaimed House, sounding so enthusiastic, the team didn't think he'd ever expressed so much excitement since he'd bought a new Gameboy Advanced game. Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Bleeding from under the finger nails?" Cameron sounded quizzical. "That's one I haven't heard of before."

"Idiopathic pulmonary haemosiderosis?" suggested Chase. "That would explain the blood in the lungs."

"How old is Mr Cosgrove?" House enquired of Cameron.

"Um… thirty-three," she said.

"IPH is more common amongst children around one to seven years old and extremely rare in adults. Unless you are implying that Mr Cosgrove is a child, I suggest you come up with another disease that is backed up with more medical evidence, as opposed to plucking out the most impressive name you could find out of your memory," said House, squashing a ball between his hands.

"Ok, so haemoptysis could have been a symptom of loads of different lung infections or diseases," Cameron interjected, before Chase could respond to House's insult. "But that still doesn't explain the haemorrhaging in all the other parts of his body."

"Uh, I'm gonna ask the obvious here," said Foreman, raising a hand as if asking permission to speak. "Was Cosgrove involved in an accident prior to all of this? Subjected to any trauma?"

"Finally, a decent question!" said House. "But one that I don't have an answer to. Cameron? Fill us in."

The other doctor consulted her notes. "Says here that he was a heavy smoker, but other than that, no accidents or harm done to the body."

"So we have a heavy smoker, haemoptysis, bleeding fingers, gums and eyes and a range of possible lung diseases," said Chase, ticking off information on his fingers. He frowned, confused. "All of these symptoms correspond to different infections and such. None of this adds up."

House bounced his ball up and down on the floor by his feet. "What is this; a math class? Who cares if it doesn't 'add up'? Now, I think this finger bleeding is quite interesting; _this _is something you don't see everyday. I want you to go down and see Cosgrove; do a lung biopsy, find out what the hell is wrong with his eyes and gums, and, most importantly, check out his fingers. Particularly for signs of finger clubbing."

The ducklings didn't answer, only trailed out of the room in silence as they contemplated the complicated case ahead of them. Cuddy filed out behind them, shooting sympathetic looks at their backs as they made they're way to Cosgrove's ward, and a long night of testing and theorising with House.

When they three doctors arrived in ICU, they were surprised to discover that there were no nurses attending to the patient. In fact, there was absolutely no activity in this part of the hospital at all. Every single one of the invalids lying on their beds was unconscious, adding to the morbid effect of the quiet ward; it was like stepping into a morgue. Chase vaguely wondered if they had gone to the right place, and not wandered off course due to heavy fatigue and severe dopiness.

"Ackley… Boone … Benjamin… Carlton… Cosgrove- here he is; J. Cosgrove, Caucasian male, thirty-three years of age…" murmured Cameron, peering at the unconscious patient, who was heavily bandaged around his fingers.

"I'll get the stuff for the biopsy," volunteered Foreman, turning round and slouching half-heartedly out of the ward to get the equipment. The door swung shut behind him, and the tail of his lab-coat swished out of sight.

Cameron and Chase were left alone with a dozen or so sleeping patients. They stood by their latest charge's bed, absorbed in thoughtful silence, endless strings of possible diagnoses running through their heads.

Cameron heaved a frustrated sigh. "This doesn't make any sense," she said. "I've never encountered such a strain of symptoms before."

Chase glanced at her and nodded. "There must have been past cases of patients showing these conditions. I'd better go do some research on it before we get the results from the biopsy – it could give us grounds as to what's wrong with him." Plus, he added mentally, it wouldn't give House room to chastise him for slacking on the job, and it was a valid excuse to get out of the death-shrouded ward. He suppressed a shiver and instead ambled over to the doors and the comforting hustle-bustle of life on the other side.

"You're leaving me alone?" asked Cameron, stunning Chase and making him stop dead in his tracks. She gave him a small smile and he frowned. Cameron plus smile equals strange behaviour equals wary Chase.

"Why? Are you scared?" he said calmly, hand resting on the door.

"I'm stuck in a room with a vampire magnet – alone. What's not to be worried about?" She smiled fully now. Definitely PMS, Chase decided, remembering her uptight manner earlier, with Foreman. Now she was smiling _and _quoting House on _vampires_?

"You don't believe in all those horror movies?" she carried on, much to Chase's further dismay. "The girl always gets killed first, you know."

Chase crossed his arms, not believing he was having this conversation with Cameron, of all people. "Well, that's because the guys need a reason to kick the vampire's butt. The girlfriend has to die first so that the hero can go on a quest to avenge her death, or something." _Did I just say that?_

"Not true. Girls can kick ass better than boys," said Cameron, also crossing her arms in the pose she used when she knew she was going to win an argument. Chase snorted.

"They'd have a hard time kicking ass when they're fussing about their hair and nails," he said dismissively. Then again, he thought, he had never seen Cameron fussing too much about her appearance. Not that she looked ugly or badly-dressed – quite the contrary – but she was never like those kind of girls who obsessed about their looks and wore thick layers of make-up. Chase considered this for a moment, then decided it was a positive trait, apart from the fact that she was naturally pretty on top of it. But, as with his respect for House, he was not about to admit this lightly.

"I know you feel the need to constantly preen yourself, Chase," said Cameron, sounding extremely sincere, "but not all _girls_ are like that."

The other doctor's jaw dropped. "Excuse me-"

"ONE NIL TO DOCTOR CAMERON!" sang Foreman's voice as he burst into the ward, knocking Chase sideways into the wall. He was wheeling a trolley in front of him, completely disregarding his colleague, who was nearly flattened to the wall as he flung the doors open. He looked at Cameron and grinned.

"Though I've got to agree with Pretty Boy on one point; men _do_ kick ass better than girls," he said, halting the trolley by the side of Cosgrove's bed.

"Right," said Cameron, shrugging. "I guess we'll have to agree to disagree, then." Out came that smile – smirk – again, as she glanced at Chase. "But if I get to verse Chase in a fight, then we'll see whether women or men kick ass better."

Foreman laughed. "You refer to Chase as a man? How can you have such a low opinion of the male species?"

"Well, when you work with such a person for long enough, you tend to forget how…" Cameron's response was lost to Chase, as he pushed his way out of the ward. He wasn't hurt by their comments about him; he was used to their taunting by now. But that didn't mean that he was willing to stand there and listen. No, he might as well get some work done, pass time, get the job done quicker so that he could go home…

Chase found himself entering a room that was vibrating with the quiet thrum of sleeping computers. Seating himself in front of one, he moved the mouse around a bit, waking up the screen. The monitor leapt to life, the bright light jumping out of the screen, making his already-tired eyes squint further, so he sat back to allow his eyeballs to adjust. Rubbing his temples, he grimaced at the prospect of his now fully-booked night, a night that was meant to be spent relaxing and catching up with sleep, not diagnosing some guy who had blood spurting from every pore on his body. Chase groaned and leaned forward once more, logging onto the system. He tapped in a search for 'bleeding fingers' and the computer complied, listing various sites for him to browse. 'Broken fingers', 'finger cuts', crazy bands called 'Bleeding Fingers'… oh, it went on and on and on and on and on and on … 

"Hey, you don't think he's really upset, do you?" asked Cameron, seeing Chase exit quickly from the ward.

"Who, Chase?" said Foreman, still smiling, but snapping on a pair of gloves. "Nah, why should he be? He's never cared before; too unemotional, like a rock." He stopped and seemed to consider something. "No, not a rock – like House."

Cameron echoed his actions, also pulling her hair into a ponytail at the back of her head. "I guess you're right. Let's start examining Cosgrove."

Doctor Foreman nodded and fetched several packages from the trolley. Whilst he was preparing a needle and syringe, Cameron propped Cosgrove onto a stand so that his back was exposed and his torso flopped lifelessly forwards. Foreman stuck the needle into the patient's skin and extracted blood with quick efficiency. He repeated this until he had collected a sufficient amount of haemoglobin to satisfy the lab technicians, then moved across so that Cameron could perform her biopsy. She pulled a chair up and sat down, taking with her a couple of deadly-looking instruments. Cosgrove breathed heavily, deeply asleep, unaware that his lung was about to get pierced by a long needle-like structure.

"Ignorance is bliss," muttered Cameron, setting up her equipment. Foreman hovered beside her, slightly disinterested, but he had nothing better to do. After all, Chase had gone off somewhere (there was no-one to tease and make fun of) so that left keeping Cameron company. He was just about to start another conversation when his colleague let out a small gasp and recoiled from the patient, a frantic beeping noise sounding from the machines lined to the invalid's body.

Cameron pitched forward and yanked Cosgrove away from the stand, so that he was now lying back down on the bed, facing upwards. His eyes were open, glassy, and blood was pumping out of them in steady streams. He appeared to not be breathing, his jaw unhinged and rivulets of crimson travelling down his chin, down his neck and staining the hospital sheets. The bandages around his fingers were splotched with red.

"What the…?" Foreman paged for help and started to help Cameron stop the bleeding. But what use could they be when they had no idea what disease or problems they were dealing with?

"Where the hell is Chase!" Foreman yelled to no one in particular. If there was anyone that could help them now, it was an intensivist, but he was nowhere within close proximity.

In fact he was far away, in a place we all like to call Dreamland. And he wasn't about to answer the summons of Foreman or his beeping pager. _Just five more minutes_, he told himself, _five more minutes…_

**A/N:**_ I'm not sure where this ff is heading, but I DO have a vague plan in mind. Note, I am not a medical expert and I have absolutely no idea about diagnosing patients, so please bear with me. If you find anything wrong with the symptoms or diseases I've written about, tell me and I'll happily change it. Thank you, and keep reading!_

**Daygoner**


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Three: Orange Spacesuits and the CDC

Foreman and Cameron left it to the nurses – finally, when they came – and were ushered out of ICU, baffled by the latest unfolding of events. They looked at each other and a silent communication of thoughts took place, whereby they both came to the conclusion that _Chase was AWOL _and_ would pay for it dearly._ But first things first; get the blood samples to the lab to confirm a diagnosis.

"I'll go," said Foreman, again, pushing the trolley that he had procured earlier. "And when you find Chase, you have my full permission to kick his ass," he added, walking down the corridor.

Cameron stripped off her gloves and threw them into a bin along her way. First, she checked the IT room _(dunno what you call it in the US, but in the UK, the computer room is called the IT department, ok!)_ for Chase, but he must have already left because there was no sign of him there. She stalked past several rooms, peeked into House's office and even checked the clinic for her other co-worker, but no such luck. A few unhelpful nurses pointed her in vague directions with, 'oh, I saw him down there a few minutes ago…' and 'yes, he's definitely in radiology…' Grinding her teeth in frustration, she rounded a corner a bit more forcefully than intended, and ended up smacking straight into the body of some poor innocent doctor, who didn't deserve getting thumped in the stomach by a-

"Chase!" Cameron screeched when she realised who she'd rammed into. "Where have you been! Foreman paged you ages ago!"

Chase held up some papers by way of explanation. "Researching," he said simply. "I thought I told you." For some reason, his cool response only infuriated Cameron more.

"Cosgrove might die because of you," she hissed. "He started haemorrhaging again and we needed you. Are you deaf? Did you not hear your pager?"

Chase delved into the pocket of his lab coat and fished out his pager. He turned up the volume to its maximum and showed it to Cameron. "Happy now?" he drawled, still in the process of waking up.

"What is wrong with you, Chase?" she said, trying to calm herself down. "Do you even care that this person might die and we'll never find out why?"

Chase perceived at her oddly before answering. "Ok, how about this; is the only thing _you _care about, the fact that we'll never find out what disease this is – or if the patient lives or dies?"

Cameron's eyes widened. "How could you even imply that-?"

"I just did. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a patient to diagnose." Chase pushed past her and continued on his way to House's office. As expected, Cameron came following close behind, hot on his heels.

"You got some information on the symptoms?" she asked him, anger slipping away marginally in light of his discoveries. "Why didn't you say?"

"It was kinda hard to get a word in when you were telling me I was deaf," said Chase wryly, sticking the printed-out sheets under her nose as they walked. Blushing slightly, she took them and began reading, eyes darting quickly back and forth across the pages. Chase kept having to manoeuvre her out of the way of stampeding nurses, rushing doctors and speeding gurneys, until they reached the safety of the elevator, where she could read without getting trampled by an onslaught of medical technicians.

Chase shoved his colleague out of the lift before stepping out himself. They made their way to the diagnostics department and to where a particular diagnostician was waiting. The two doctors entered House's office and took their respectable seats at their table. House and Foreman were already there, discussing whatever a stuck up employer and criminal employee discussed about. Actually, they were just glaring at each other in silence, making Chase and Cameron wonder what had been said during their absence.

"So you've finally decided to grace us with your presence," said House, clapping his hands together to relieve some of the tension. "You," he pointed at Chase, "have been playing hooky. What could be more important to you than tending to the terminally ill? Or was that left out of your job description when you applied?"

Chase scowled but forced his voice to stay neutral. "I was researching the symptoms of the patient." _Partially the truth_, he reasoned with himself. _No one needs to know I slept on the job_. "Cameron's read what I came up with. Nothing's concrete yet, but-"

"Oh, so now you've taken a liking to looking up the causes of diseases? Did you list them in alphabetical order, like I asked last time? Because you know I won't read the stuff otherwise." House leaned forward anyway and plucked the sheaf of papers from Cameron's hands. He scanned the pages for anything useful, shuffling through the sheets before crumpling up the pile and tossing the whole load into the bin. Chase narrowed his eyes at his boss. _Don't kill the cripple don't kill the cripple don't kill the cripple don't kill the cripple_ –

"And you call yourself a doctor, Chase," sighed House, adding a sympathetic tone to his voice, mocking the younger doctor. "Next time you do 'research' I suggest you provide me with information that is relevant to the case, and not some random gobbledegook that you copied and pasted off the internet." He faced the rest of the team, and picked up his favourite board pen. "Ok, thanks to Goldilocks over there, we've wasted some precious time to save Cosgrove's life – if he's not dead already, again, thanks to Chase. Right, so let's start with what we know…"

Chase droned out the rest of House's speech, stewing quietly in his simmering fury. It seemed that nothing he did was ever going to be right, no matter how hard he tried.

His thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in his arm. Reluctantly, he turned to see Cameron, pulling on his sleeve, bending towards his ear. With her face so close to his, he was surprised that she didn't feel the heat radiating off his cheeks as he flushed at the intimacy of their position. Then, after these thoughts fluttered across his mind, he cursed inwardly and willed himself to concentrate on what Cameron was saying.

"Pay attention," she whispered. "Look at what House is writing on the board."

He was about to say that he didn't give a damn about what his boss was writing, when he realised some familiar words emblazoned across the stupid board. Frowning, he diverted his attention back to the diagnostician who was grinning broadly and tossing his pen around in his hands. Grinning with that self-satisfied air that never failed to piss people off.

House had written up all the things that Chase had listed, and was now tapping the whiteboard and generating ideas for the diagnosis of the patient. Chase was pleasantly surprised, but still pissed off; on one hand, House had put his information to good use, and on the other, he had also gladly taken the credit for all of Chase's elbow grease. _Well, at least Cameron knows_, thought Chase, a little more at ease. In the end, he was too drawn into the discussion of diseases and symptoms that he pushed his irritant feelings towards House to the back of his mind and treated his boss with the same distanced indifference as he usually did. He offered suggestions where necessary and argued points with Foreman for a while, before shutting up and listening to House's opinion on the facts. The doctor in question was popping the lid off his Vicodin bottle and shovelling the pills down his throat. The ducklings waited for his speech.

"What?" asked House, into the overhanging silence, after no one had spoken for a while. "Why has everyone stopped arguing? I was beginning to enjoy that."

The ducklings shared a look, before gazing back at House, who was watching them with an expectant gleam in his eyes. Cameron was about to say something when-

"Doctor House!"

The door to the office blew open to reveal Cuddy, Stacey and Wilson bursting in from the corridor. Everyone's face showed frowns of obvious confusion, except House, whose expression mirrored that of all the times when Cameron handed him his coffee, i.e. he looked as though he couldn't be more bothered.

"Woah, all three of my favourite people, come to visit me at the same time. I feel so loved," he said, smiling at them. "Well, not you, Cuddy; you're my superior, I just pretend to like you so that I can keep my job."

However, Cuddy didn't smile back or reply with a smart comment like she usually did. On the contrary, her face remained stony, and a slightly urgent edge entered her voice when she opened her mouth to speak.

"House," she intoned gravely. "We have a serious problem."

"If a patient died, it's his-" House pointed at Chase, "fault… Wait, Chase has already killed someone and Cameron's slept with a co-worker. Hmm, that leaves Foreman. Ok, if a patient died, then it was Foreman's fault."

Stacey could barely disguise her annoyance for the sarcastic diagnostician. "Shut up, House, this is serious."

"Yes, because the tone of your voice is telling me that you're extremely happy and upbeat."

This time, Wilson intervened. "It's about that Cosgrove guy we were talking about earlier."

House straightened quickly. "Oh, no, you guys are right; it _wasn't _Doctor Foreman who killed Mr Cosgrove. No, that _was_ Chase, sorry, my mistake."

"What are you talking about?" Cuddy snapped, after sending Chase a what-did-you-do-this-time glance. "Cosgrove's not dead!"

"Yeah, it's much worse than that," added Stacey with a touch of impatience. "Another patient's caught the disease."

"Try another five," Wilson chipped in and the ducklings' eyes widened uncomprehendingly.

"Five other people?" Foreman repeated, making sure he had heard right. "Five? But Cameron and I were down there a minute ago. Everything was alright then, albeit the fact that Cosgrove transformed into a blood spurting geyser again."

Cuddy nodded grimly. "Five patients in the ICU department all started exhibiting the same symptoms as Mr Cosgrove; first, bleeding from the finger nails, then the gums and so forth. "  
"How long ago was this?" questioned House, twirling his stick with his hands.

"I just received word of it."

House frowned. "So, five patients suddenly turned into blood fountains after being in the same room as Cosgrove for-"

"Er, around an hour," supplied Cuddy. The ducklings absorbed the news, then one by one, they blanched, blinking rapidly. If it had taken an hour for the disease or virus to infect the patients in the same room as Cosgrove, and they had actually _touched_ him (well, not Chase so much)…

"Oh, my God," House hopped off his desk (to the best of his ability), crossed to his whiteboard and hid behind it. Everyone looked at him like he was mad, and as if to seal the fact that he actually belonged in the psychiatric ward, he held his stick out so that is stuck out from behind the board, aimed at the table where the ducklings were sitting. "Stay away," he warned them in a level voice. "You see, this is why I don't go see patients; you have no idea what deadly crap they're harbouring in their little disease-ridden bodies." The top of his head peeked round the side of his board, eyebrows knitted together in a tight frown. "Now you guys've probably contracted some of those pathogens. Please get out of my office, I'm not going to risk my health around you three. New rule in the hospital; Foreman, Chase and Cameron can't come within a two mile radius of me. Thank you, Cuddy, that will be all."

Now Stacey, Cuddy and Wilson were staring at Cameron, Foreman and Chase.

"Hey," said Foreman, "let's not jump to conclusions." He glanced at the whiteboard and House's legs stationed behind it. "Not that all of us _can_ jump," he added in an undertone.

"We have to get those tests from the lab. The blood tests from Cosgrove," said Cameron as steadily as possible. _First HIV, now this_, she thought with a twinge of hysteria, which she was doing well to conceal from the people around her. Chase, however, turned his eyes on her, concern flashing across his irises for a split second before his eyes returned to their prior state. Blank. Chase faced away from her but Cameron was so sure she had seen something there, some emotion. And it was aimed at her! Shaking her head, she tuned into the discussion that had risen around the subject of contamination in the hospital.

"How many other nurses or doctors were in contact or within close proximity to Cosgrove?" Chase was asking.

Cuddy made as if to shrug, but Stacey put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll go find out," she said, shooting a glare to where House was hiding, as if she couldn't stand being so close to the diagnostician. "If someone else hasn't already," she shared a meaningful look with Cuddy.

"Don't tell _them_ anything yet," murmured the hospital administrator, after thanking her. Stacey nodded, then exited abruptly.

A low whistle sounded from where House was. "One down, five to go," he announced, counting down the number of people left in the room with him, as if it affected his chances of contracting the virus.

"Who's _them_?" asked Foreman, puzzled. "The nurses?"

Cuddy shook her head and let out a sigh. "I suppose you'd better come see," she said wearily. Wilson's eyes were uncharacteristically downcast and his body language was screaming: UNCOMFORTABLE. No one really noted his presence in the room; he was keeping a silent and wary approach to the goings-on.

Cuddy shuffled backwards to the door. She opened it and motioned for the doctors to follow her out, Wilson going through it before her. Cameron, Foreman and Chase also ambled out, various degrees of bewildered expressions plastered across their faces. House feigned hesitance as he slithered out from behind the whiteboard, as if looking out for floating pathogens in the atmosphere. At Cuddy's irritated expression, he immediately made a beeline for the door. When he approached her, he announced pointedly, "I don't want to catch whatever they've got, but, hey, what can I say? I'm curious. And you're scary when you're angry."

House stopped smirking when he noticed the bustling activity in the corridor. Cuddy and Wilson were watching him for his reaction, and they would have laughed at his dumb-founded countenance, had it not been so humourless a situation. The ducklings just stared as though Martians had landed right in front of them, crawling out of space suits and waving laser guns madly. House gained back some of his composure after a couple of seconds, then started hobbling down the hall, five doctors in his wake. He narrowly avoided collision with a man who had, stupidly, thrown out an arm to obstruct the crippled doctor from going any further. House's smouldering gaze was enough to make him lower his arm, but not to make him move out of the way.

"If I'm polite, will you shift your ass and stop blocking the hallway?" House asked, lifting an eyebrow.

The other man's expression was stony. "Are you a doctor?" he shot back rudely.

House rolled his eyes, lifting his stick and nudged the man's orange suit with it. "Well, duh," he said, still prodding the folds of orange protection suit that the man was donning. "And who are you? Neil Armstrong gone colour blind?" He raised his stick higher and knocked on the transparent plastic that shielded the man's face. The man didn't blink.

He regarded House and all his colleagues, who were watching the unfolding scene with tensed awareness. They were all wearing lab coats, save House and Cuddy, so the man assumed they were doctors too. He had already met the Dean of Medicine earlier, and that had not ended well; the infuriated woman had stormed out, declaring that she was going to find a house, or something, he didn't really hear her clearly…

"I am Doctor James from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention." House took a slight step back and his team waited for the rest of the terrible truth to come out, even though they knew what was coming next.

"Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital is hereby placed under quarantine by the CDC."

_**A/N:** Slightly longer chapter this time; sorry if it took too long to actually get to the point! As usual, please forgive me for any mistakes with the characterisation and with general stuff on the story; I haven't watched nearly enough House episodes to write a good fanfiction on the show, but I'm trying! Also, is there an IT room in PPTH? Well, is there isn't, now there is! **Thank you for reading, and thank you to all my previous reviewers. To future readers (and past): please REVIEW! **Any criticism is welcomed._

**Daygoner**


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Four:

"_Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital is hereby placed under quarantine by the CDC."_

Beats of silence passed painfully. Then House's piercing blue eyes rolled upwards and disappeared behind closed eyelids. He smacked his forehead with his hand.

"I don't believe it," he groaned. "I'm stuck in a hospital with diseased patients and ignorant CDC doctors. Why is the _whole_ hospital quarantined? In fact, why are we being quarantined in the first place?"

"Exactly what I was saying," said Cuddy, glaring at Doctor James.

He stuck his nose up pompously in the air. "I was under strict orders to detain the hospital once the CDC received word of the unknown virus here."

"How did you find out so quickly?" asked Cameron from behind House and Cuddy. The orange-suited doctor looked to her with a flicker of hesitation dancing across his face before he answered.

"We're well informed," he said evasively.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Chase. Cuddy made a little noise indicating disgust and turned away; the ducklings looked at her strangely.

"That's translated as 'the CDC has spies in the hospital and I'm royally pissed at the fact that I didn't notice'" said House, making James squirm. "Notice that he's not denying it; guilty as charged."

"I'm sorry, spies? That's ridiculous, even for you, House," said Foreman.

The other doctor assumed an offended expression. "Just because the truth sucks, doesn't mean you have to blame it on me."

"Who's the mole?" said Cameron, obviously believing House's theory on the conspiracy.

"Two nurses in ITU and one in the clinic," answered Stacey, coming up beside their huddle of people and sounding a little breathless. "And I found out who else was in contact with Cosgrove; four medics, five nurses and two doctors. They're waiting for you in you office now. Then there's the whole ICU ward," she added after drawing a deep breath. She then handed Cuddy a slip of paper with the names of the 'traitor' nurses' names on them.

"How did you find out?" asked Cuddy, reading the short list.

"The powers of persuasion as a lawyer are limitless," said Stacey dryly.

House suddenly started to have a coughing fit. Some coughs bore a surprising similarity to the words 'threatened' and 'interrogated'. "Excuse me," he apologised after a final almighty wheeze. "Please continue."

"I just poked around a bit," concluded Stacey. "They all confessed in the end."

Cuddy heaved a sigh and House interjected, "On the bright side, that's three less pay cheques you have to sign every month. And there'll probably be even less, since we'll all be dead by the end of this quarantine."

"No one's gonna die," said James in what he thought was a calm voice, but was actually quite patronizing.

"Uh huh, sure," said House, completely overriding the CDC doctor. "You don't even know what disease we're dealing with. How can the CDC place us under quarantine if you have no idea what you're putting us in quarantine for?"

"I'm going to have to contradict you there, Doctor -?"

"None of your business."

"Right, Doctor," James carried on with a self important air, even though he had just been snubbed. "In relation to your earlier claims about the CDC not knowing anything about the disease, I have to say that you are completely wrong; we know for a fact that the disease present in the primarily infected patient is a strain of Ebola." He paused dramatically for the assumingly shocking news to set in. _I mean, Ebola,_ he thought to himself, _bet they didn't see **that** coming!_

At the mention of the Ebola virus, Chase frowned. It was one of the many diseases and viruses he had searched earlier on and he and the team were well informed on the subject. They had argued about the possibility of it being Ebola, which was extremely low, and in the end, they had concluded that

"That is absolute crap," said House disdainfully. "You are insulting my intelligence. At least get your facts right before you start a public scare over Ebola."

James remained adamant. "We have reliable sources-"

"Ah, the confession," said House, smiling at his colleagues. "You see, Foreman, the CDC _do _have spies posted at the hospital."

James was frowning. "We have people keeping a look out for anything suspicious in most hospitals around the US," he admitted grudgingly. "You never know what kind of bugs turn up in society these days; we have to take extra precautions."

"While that is all very well," said Cuddy in a voice of strained calm. "We have everything under control here, so there really is no need for quarantine."

"With all due respect," said James impatiently, in a tone that suggested no respect for the hospital administrator at all, "in case you haven't realised, if this is a case of Ebola, it's in the best interest of national security to put a lockdown on the hospital to prevent the disease from spreading."

House nudged the other doctor with his stick to get his attention. "Key word in that sentence: 'if'. What happens 'if' it's not Ebola, huh? Not gonna look so smart then, will ya?" House poked him just one more time, for good measure and to get his point across. "And I can tell you now, it's _not _Ebola."

James was quickly starting to loose his cool. His face was steadily becoming redder behind the mask of plastic he was protected by. "Of course it's Ebola," he spat. "Bleeding from the orifices suggests-"

"Ah," said House. "I wondered when we'd get technical. Now, if orifices include eyes, fingers and gums, then yes, quarantine away. But if you actually paid attention in med school, you might have found that those body parts are not orifices. Well done, here's a gold star, go to the top of the class; that's lesson one on the human anatomy covered. Next topic: how to deflate a bighead with a small brain, not so hard when the bighead is an idiot and wearing an orange jumpsuit."

James flushed and Chase chipped in, "And even if it was Ebola, you wouldn't be wearing a protective suit anyway because the strains that are harmful to humans are not airborne viruses." He cocked an eyebrow at the CDC doctor. "So unless you're a monkey, you don't have to wear the suit."

"And trust me, orange is so not your colour," added House, with a knowing look.

James had turned crimson with the onslaught of abuse he was receiving from the doctors around him. They had gathered an audience as well; nurses and other consultants had all stopped to witness the bantering between House and his team and the CDC doctor, most of them sniggering behind their hands and clipboards.

"Move along!" he snapped, and everyone immediately resumed their tasks, slight smiles tugging at their lips. He took a couple of steps up to House, so that he was towering over the crippled doctor. "Now you listen to me, Dr I've-Got-My-Head-Stuck-Up-My-Ass, I know it must be hard for you to accept the fact that you're wrong for once, but, buddy, you gotta chew down hard on this one and swallow your pride. When the CDC says it's Ebola, then it damn well is Ebola. When the CDC puts a hospital in quarantine, then the hospital will be put in quarantine. There's nothing you can do about it."

"So when the CDC tells you to jump off a cliff, you'd jump off a cliff?" asked House quizzically. "Phew, thank God I don't work for the CDC, I'm already crippled enough as it is."

Doctor James was murderous. "You stupid bast-"

"What is going on here?" A strangely accented voice echoed down the corridor and all the doctors (and lawyer) turned to face in its direction. The crowd parted for a middle aged man who was making his way towards them, garbed in a white coat with a little ID tag on his breast pocket, not very well distinguished between the other doctors in the hospital. However, he held himself with a quietly confident air, not exactly overly pompous like James, but he seemed to be in a powerful position, and he knew it. He had dark hair that framed equally dark eyes and a sharp hawk-like appearance that was both striking and handsome. The women in the group all straightened as he neared, and Foreman and Chase exchanged glowers. House just retained a mildly sick expression, though he had stiffened (but nobody noticed).

"What is going on?" the man repeated when he had reached them. "James," he addressed the CDC doctor directly. "Why are you wearing the contamination suit? The team was told not to wear it."

"What? Oh, I was not informed… I'm sorry, sir, it won't happen again," he stuttered, embarrassed beyond belief.

House snorted. "That's right, go on, shoo, get rid of the body condom."

The man James was so humbled by turned to regard the diagnostician. They looked each other up and down, as if they were animals eyeing each other before a fight. They were both seemingly equally dangerous predators in a field of lesser hunters, casting about, waiting for the other to strike. Tension was filling the air, already heavy with simmering resent and contempt. An unnatural hush descended upon the hallway, and not even Cuddy dared to intervene. All eyes were trained on House and the other man.

"House," he said unyieldingly.

"Is this the cliché moment where I say your name in return?" asked House mildly. The other man smirked.

"Still as sarcastic as ever, are we?" commented the man in his clipped accent.

"Still as arrogant as ever?" countered House.

"You can talk."

"That's the best comeback you could come up with? What are you, nine?"

"And what are you, sixty?"

"Hey, this stick has a lot of uses, even to a pensioner. Want me to show you?"

"You're going to have to extract it from up your arse first."

The ducklings, Cuddy, Wilson and Stacey watched the two like they were playing ping pong with a ball that refused to fall out of their striking ranges, trading blows until they exhausted themselves of moves. Except they didn't; the hurling of petty comments and remarks went on for quite some time before Foreman interrupted.

"Uh, excuse me, but who the hell is this guy?" he said loudly, looking to House for an explanation to the man's identity. The team focussed their attention on House now.

"That is absolute bollocks, House," the man was saying to him.

House put a hand to his ear. "I didn't get that last bit. 'Bollocks' did you say? At least speak English if you expect me to understand you."

"What are you talking about? I _am_ English, you idiot; you Americans are the ones who don't know _proper_ English."

"Ouch, low blow there. You do realise that you're standing in a hallway full of Americans, right? Oh, wait, you must know Doctor Chase, you guys are both British! Did you go to the same med school? Must have; you people are quite pathetic doctors. How do patients survive in Britain, huh?"

"I'm NOT British," exclaimed Chase exasperatedly. "And I don't know who this guy is."

"Ah, but you didn't deny you were a pathetic doctor. Good, the first step to curing oneself is admitting your faults," said House, rounding on Chase for a moment.

"Wow, insulting your own employees is really going to create the ideal positive atmosphere at work, isn't it?" said the man.

"Oh, Chase isn't my employee, he's my lapdog," House corrected him. Chase rolled his eyes and Cameron glanced at him sympathetically. Foreman shook his head, also feeling slightly sorry for the Australian who was receiving a major bashing in front of a man that they didn't even know.

"Can someone please tell us what is going on?" Wilson burst out unexpectedly. "Who is this guy?"

"Oh, he's British and-"

"Do we care about his nationality?" snapped Stacey.

"Why, do you think English accents are sexy? Most American women do. Hmm, if I speak in a British accent, will you finally admit you love me more than your husband?"

Stacey was spared answering when Cameron stepped in and addressed the man directly, not allowing House to get a word in. "I'm sorry, but apart from the fact that you come from England, who are you and what have you get to do with the quarantine?"

_Go Cameron_, everyone but House thought collectively. The man smiled at her warmly, as opposed to his initial stony glares at House, before replying.

"I'm Doctor Matthew Walker, Director of the CDCP," he said smartly, British accent more pronounced now that he had stuck his chest out. House gagged. "I know you're jealous, but there's really no need for childish insults," Walker threw back at the other doctor, who only stared at him serenely as if he had said nothing. "Is he always like this?" Walker said to no one in particular, raking a hand through his dark hair, sweeping it away from his forehead.

"Uh, yeah, most of the time. He's usually worse," added Foreman as an afterthought. Cameron and Chase nodded in agreement.

Walker chuckled. "Oh, you haven't changed one bit, have you, Greg?"

"Not really. I wish I could say the same for you, Matt; you've gotten worse - more up yourself, if that's possible."

Cuddy intruded. "Wait, you guys know each other?"

"Unfortunately," sighed Walker.

"Feeling's mutual," said House.

"When did this happen?" asked Stacey, intrigued.

"I transferred to the US when I was in training. Went to the same med school as House and from there, we became the best of friends, as you can imagine," grinned Walker good-naturedly.

"I wonder what went wrong," muttered Wilson to himself.

"We went our separate ways after a number of years together," recounted Walker, sounding as though he relished the memory of him and House parting ways. "And fate must have brought us together again, because, well, here we are." He finished with an ironic smile at House.

"Yep, all bunged up in a hospital with six diseased patients and a few doctors with no idea what they are treating," said House, jabbing his stick in James's direction. The other doctor had so far kept out of the conversation, but turned beetroot red and glared at House when the attention had once again fallen on him and his unnecessary orange suit.

"We know that we are experiencing an outbreak of an unknown Ebola strain amongst a substantial amount of patients in the ICU ward, and a possible infection in some of the nurses in their attendance," offered Walker. "If that's not a good reason for quarantine, then I don't know what is."

"I know it's quite hard for your non-existent brain to comprehend, but get it through your hollow skull; this is NOT a case of Ebola," House had an almost pained expression on his face from having to say this over and over again.

"You know what, I'm sick of this," announced Walker. "I don't care what you have to say, Greg, but I'm putting this hospital under quarantine whether it's Ebola or not. You don't have a say in this; what I say goes, and for the next few days, we're gonna run tests on everyone to make sure the pathogen hasn't spread."

"I thought Ebola isn't airborne," said Cameron.

"It isn't," agreed Walker. "The CDC has to take precautions, that's all."

"I suppose we have no choice then," said Cuddy, exhaling a deep breath. "How long will the quarantine last?"

"I don't know yet," admitted the Director, "but I assure you, we'll be done in no time."

"Hey, I have a question," said House, raising a hand. It seemed as though he had finally conceded defeat with the quarantine issue. "Actually, it's more of a demand. I want to lead the investigation to diagnose the patients."

"You are joking, right?" House's face remained blank and serious. "Absolutely not! Are you out of your mind? The CDC will handle the testing and diagnosing; only doctors with specific experience can handle a case like this. I'm sorry, but that's a definite no."

House smiled. "Is that so?"

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

"Here are the files," said Stacey gruffly, offloading the stack on House who thrust the pile into Chase's arms. The Australian transferred the papers onto House's desk and he, Cameron and Foreman began to diligently sort through the information.

"Good luck," muttered the lawyer, swivelling on her heel to leave the doctor's presence. House caught her arm.

"We're stuck in a quarantined hospital," said House. "You might as well get used to being around me cos we'll be seeing an awful lot of each other." _Thanks to Walker,_ thought House to himself. At least that was one good thing that the Englishman had done for him and just about the only positive aspect of the quarantine.

"I'd rather not," said Stacey, wrenching herself from House's grip and distancing herself from him.

"Afraid you'll fall back in love with me?" commented House casually, but his icy eyes were fixed on hers intently.

"Keep up this little fantasy romance, because that's all it will be; a figment of your imagination," said Stacey cuttingly, before turning and storming away from House's office. The door slid shut with more force than necessary behind her.

"Lover's quarrel?" murmured Foreman questioningly, shifting through a sheaf of notes, whilst also eavesdropping on House's conversation.

"She's in the stage of denial," said House confidently, retreating further into his office. "She'll be begging me to have her in no time."

"I'm sure," muttered Chase, also looking at various sheets of print-outs. They were all so tired now, staying marginally awake on the caffeine from copious cups of black coffee. Chase held a yawn in, not wanting to show weakness or any sign of tiring in front of his colleagues, though it was obvious they were all suffering from severe fatigue.

"I can't believe we're still working," he said instead, rubbing his watering eyes.

House sighed mightily. "I know you need your beauty sleep, Goldilocks, but the patients come first."

"You're not doing this for the patients," Cameron pointed out. "You're doing this to prove that you're a better doctor than Walker."

"True," said House, tossing a ball up and catching it.

"What is the history between you two, then?" asked Foreman, scratching his head. "What turned such a sweet friendship so sour?"

Cameron and Chase stopped reading to listen to House's answer. He was still playing with the ball, refusing to reply, but soon enough, his mouth opened and he spoke.

"So what did the test results for Cosgrove show?"

**A/N**_: I'm sorry I took a little longer to update this time and for the fact that this chapter was mainly all dialogue! And for the fact that this was an insanely slow and boring chapter, but I just wanted to show House's talent for bickering and bantering with the new character, Walker, as well as the ducklings and everyone else. But I didn't mean for it all to be speech! Ooops. I'll try harder to make the characters DO something in the next chapter, as opposed to standing around and arguing, LOL. **Thank you for all the reviews for the previous chapter, and please keep them coming!**_

**Daygoner**


	5. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously. Oh, but I own Walker and James… unfortunately.

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Five: Chase and Cameron's Coffee Chemistry

"_So what did the test results for Cosgrove show?"_

The typical House response set the ducklings sighing inwardly and restraining themselves from rolling their eyes. It was just like him to put them in suspense like that, then divert the attention away from the obviously guarded subject with an irrelevant remark or comment.

"Filovirii present in the blood," reported Chase dutifully. "Guess that means that Ebola could be the cause."

"Plus there was an onset of fever and development of maculopapular rash on the skin," added Cameron, remembering the scores of red spots she had seen on Cosgrove's body. "Could also indicate Typhus fever."

"Were Rickettsia bacteria present in the blood?" asked House. Cameron scanned her notes, but her boss had already dissmissed her idea. "No, there wasn't. Typhus gives us an explanation for the fever and rash, but not the haemoraging. But the filovirii gives us something interesting to examine."

"I thought you said it wasn't Ebola?" said Cameron.

"Really? I had no idea I was saying it wasn't Ebola after the first fifty times or so," said House sarcastically. "And here's time number fifty-one; it's not Ebola."

"How about Dengue fever?" offered Foreman. "Explains all the symptoms, the haemorrhagic fever and the flaviviriruses in the blood."

House smirked at him. "Someone's gotta clean out the wax in their ears," he remarked, deliberately slowly, as if talking to a deaf person.

"Huh?"

Chase answered for House. "There are no flaviviruses; it was _filovirii_."

Foreman looked dumbfounded and shook his head. He got up and crossed the room, muttering, "I need a cup of coffee…"

Chase gave a suggestion as his colleage stocked up on some much-needed caffeine. "It could be the Marburg virus," he said thoughtfully. "It also belongs to the filoviridae family, looks identical to the Ebola virus, and it triggers all the same symptoms as Ebola, just not the same antibodies."

"The internet is a wonderful thing, isn't it? Learn tonnes more there than in med school," said House, circling the word 'Marburg' on his whiteboard, just as Foreman sat down, cup of coffee in hand. House turned and spotted the mug. "Cameron, I need some java," he said to her expectantly.

"Why didn't you ask Foreman to get it for you?" she answered back irritably.

"He doesn't make it nearly as well as you do," House complimented her with big appealing eyes.

"I feel so special," said Cameron, getting up and going to do as she was asked, huffing annoyedly as she went. A smile quirked at House's lips, but he said nothing, and didn't thank her as she handed him a steaming mug.

"Oh, Chase, did you want one too?" Cameron asked suddenly, as if just remembering he was there.

"No, no thanks," he said, politely refusing her offer, though he was dying for caffeine to kick his senses awake. "I'll get some later."

Cameron shrugged in a 'suit yourself' manner, and returned her attention to House, who was now writing up lists of symptoms on the whiteboard. _High fever_, his untidy scrawls read, _haemoptysis;_ _headaches; nausea; vomitting; chest and abdominal pains; rash; diarrhoea; haemorrhaging…_

"How do we know he was experiencing pains and headaches?" questioned Cameron, frowning at the board. "He's been unconcious the whole time since he was admitted to the hospital, he couldn't have told us this information."

"Hard as it may be to conceive," said House, scribbling the words 'joint pain' across his board, "that ugly blood fountain actually has a girlfriend sitting in Cuddy's office who's been reporting everything that's happened to her dear boyfriend for the past few weeks."

"She's with Cuddy?" said Foreman.

"Nuh-uh, past tense, Foreman, past tense; she _was _with Cuddy, but now she's probabaly been abducted by the CDC for testing and such… which reminds me, I wonder when Walker's coming for us? Hmm, I don't fancy meeting him again; I guess I'll be seeing you guys around then." With that, House began to stride out of the room with surpirsing speed, all three legs contacting the ground with hard thumps. Cameron, Chase and Foreman all oggled at his retreating back.

"But we haven't finished diagnosing the patient," Chase yelled after his boss. House paused and turned, an unreadable expression etched into the lines of his face.

"It's Marburg fever," he said confidently. "And it's also Coccidioidomycosis – that explains the haemoptysis."

"Wait!" shouted Cameron as House turned to leave again. "How did you come to _that _conclusion?"

He sighed impatiently. "Coccidioides immitis is a fungal disease that resides in Arizona, Nevada, California, Texas, and some other states - coccidioidomycosis has symptoms consistent with those that of Cosgrove and all the other patients. It happens when people inhale fungal particles called arthrocondia, then bingo, you develop coccidioidomycosis. Cosgrove's girlfriend said they'd been to Nevada a while ago. Anything else you need to know? No? Ok, I'm off. Oh, and by the way, if anyone asks, you didn't see me here and this meeting did not take place." He started to hobble away again. "Also, if I catch any of you telling Walker what we have just discussed, you might find yourselves on the wrong side of the hospital bed. Let him treat the patients as he wishes. We'll see who's right in the end, once the whole hospital's full of corpses!" House cackled wildly as he disappeared out of the door and down the corridor.

The ducklings were left, speechless, in the office. They looked at each other, astounded that House had just come to a conclusion so quickly about such a confusing and complicated case.

"Wait," cautioned Foreman as they began collecting up their notes. "Neither Marburg fever nor coccidioidomycosis are airborne diseases. How could the other five patients have contracted the viruses without having contacted any infected fluids from Cosgrove?"

Chase and Cameron mulled over this new piece of information. Before either of them could put forward any more suggestions, someone came into the room.

"Has anyone seen Greg?" a British voice accompanied the sound of footsteps coming closer. Walker had just walked in.

Foreman regarded the CDC director without changing the expression on his face. "Is the matter urgent?" he asked, forcing his vocabulary and tone to become more polished, in light of Walker's posh English accent. He could see Chase holding back a snigger unsuccessfully in the background, and Cameron nudging him in the ribs, though she couldn't stop herself from smiling as well.

"It's concerning the epidemic of Ebola that has spread around PPTH," said Walker, looking at Foreman strangely. "Is Greg hiding from me? I suppose he'd rather die than admit he was wrong _and_ receive treatment from me."

"How do you know he's wrong?" Foreman found himself challenging the other doctor. _I'm defending House, of all people,_ he thought to himself_, today is definitely the turning point of my life._ "How did you conclude that it was Ebola?" he ventured another question in his newly acquired tone of voice. _Will Chase and Cameron STOP laughing!_

"Well," said Walker, still looking at him as though he was a bit odd. "Filovirii were present in the samples of Cosgrove's blood, and Ebola comes under the same bacterial family. We are not sure of the strain, though we believe it to be Ebola Zaire. Tests will confirm our theories when they are completed, later."

"If that is what you believe," said Foreman, guarding his tongue and the discussion they had held with House just minutes before.

Walker smiled. "If any of you see your grumpy boss, let me know. But for now, I suppose we'd better start on you lot."

"Excuse me?" said Chase, recovering from a snort of laughter. "What do you mean by that?"

"The CDC needs to run some tests on those who were in close proximity with the patient, ASAP. We've already rounded up some of the nurses and lab technicians who handled his body and his blood, and, it's come to our knowledge that Dr Foreman also contacted some of his blood," Walker explained patiently. "All three of you came into close proximity of Cosgrove; it's important we screen you for possible viral infections."

Cameron sobered. "What are the chances of us contracting the disease?"

"Contracting Ebola?" Walker reminded them of what disease _he_ thought they were dealing with. "Not very high at all," he said in relation to Cameron's question. "Unless you had direct contact with any of his body fluids." Foreman blanched, but nobody noticed (it was kind of hard to tell).

Cameron and Chase racked their brains for any memory of whether they had done such a thing, and found themselves praising the person who had invented rubber gloves and protective lab coats. It seemed as though they were safe; neither of them had touched blood or any other fluid from Cosgrove.

"We need to run tests anyway, quarantine protocol," informed Walker. "Everyone will be examined, even Greg," he added with a smug smile, reminiscent of House's when he had proved everyone wrong with one of his whacko theories. For once, the ducklings hoped his latest 'wacko theory' was just as right as all his previous diagnoses. Then again, Marburg's was about as lethal as Ebola, so if they were infected with the disease, they would be fighting for their lives anyway.

The ducklings filed out of the office, morose and depressed - not to mention in serious need of sleep - but nevertheless staying awake, as a cold trickle of fear made its way down their spines as their minds returned to the recurring thought: _Do I have Ebola? Or Marburg Fever? _

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

"Think he'll find me here?" House said to Wilson, pretending to be terrified at the thought of Walker finding him at the oncologist's office.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I'm your best – and only – friend," he said, mockingly, "Surely there's no way that he'll connect you to me and find you here."

House frowned. "What do you mean you're my only friend?" he demanded, ignoring the last comment about Walker discovering his hiding place.

"The fact remains, Greg; you're socially retarded," was the simple reply.

House put a hand over his heart. "That hurts," he said, as if he had been fatally wounded. "Though you being my _only_ friend, as you so nicely put it, makes you socially retarded also."

"No, that makes me the popular guy who hangs out with the outcast, to make me seem even more popular than I already am," corrected Wilson.

House shook his head. "You're using me?" he said disbelievingly.

"'Fraid so," said Wilson, grinning.

"Then I guess it's too bad I only use you for your money," House said with a casual shrug.

"Eh, it's a win-win situation," said Wilson. "I use you to boost my popularity and you use me for my bank card. Everyone's happy."

"Oh stop," said House, as if Wilson was flattering him. "You're making it look as though you're Paris Hilton and I'm Nicole Richie."

Wilson laughed, then frowned a little. "Hey, didn't Paris dump Nicole a while ago?"

"Yeah. D'ya think it's a sign?"

"Haha. Nice to know that's how you think of our friendship. But I'll check my horoscope for any 'signs' of turbulence for our relationship ahead, just in case."

"It's impossible to get a rise out of you," sighed House. "Oh, and read mine while you're at it," he added, referring to the horoscopes. "Check for something along the lines of 'beware the killing of an Englishman committed by your own hands' or 'one who loves you will come begging for your love in return.' Something like that, or I really don't wanna know."

"I was joking about the horoscope thing," said Wilson sheepishly. "But what's this about the 'one who loves you' thing?"

House looked at him like he was stupid. "Three guesses, genius. Here's a clue: I only go on about her ten times a day in every conversation we have."

"Oh!" Wilson exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Cuddy!" House looked stricken, then started to repeatedly knock his stick against his head. Wilson grinned and said, "Look, I know you're depressed about Walker and all, but self-harming is really not the key. And I know you're not talking about Cuddy; we all know how you obsess over our favourite lawyer."

"I do not 'obsess'," protested House, ceasing the bashing of his head with his stick. "_She's_ the one who's obsessing over _me_; she can't enough of me. Right now, she's playing hard to get - you know - she's holding herself back, trying to get me to snap first. But I'm not _that_ desperate. She'll be the one who's crawling back to me, begging me to sleep with her within no time, you'll see."

"She's got a husband," Wilson pointed out like he had done on so many other occasions.

"You've got a wife; and you get along fine with all your little affairs," countered House.

Wilson grimaced. "Ok, ok, no need to delve into _my_ personal life as well."

"I've always said people should steer clear of private lives." House turned and stiffened as he noticed a strange doctor walking down the hallway outside Wilson's office. Wilson peeked out from behind House; the doctor outside worked for the CDC, he could tell by the ID tag. "Hey, Wilson, let's go walkabout; Walker's bound to come looking for me here," House said suddenly, and with that, he strode out of the head oncologist's office, checking carefully that the coast was clear of the CDC doctor he had just witnessed ambling past (and was especially alert for patrolling Englishmen), before starting down the hall with his friend ambling in his wake.

They went some time without making any conversation, House peering around every corner like a rabbit trying to escape capture though already caught in a big cage. Every now and then, they'd come across a CDC doctor and abruptly turn back the way they came, keeping their eyes downcast and making as little noise as possible. Wilson kept sniggering as they did this; it was like one massive game of hide and seek – on the run and in a quarantined hospital.

After a particularly close run–in with that Doctor James they had met earlier, House and Wilson took a sharp turn and found themselves looking onto a testing session through the glass of the observatory area they were now situated in, originally looking over an operating room. Foreman, Chase and Cameron were the current specimens for the CDC's research.

"Hey, is this going to be a live dissection?" asked House excitedly, rubbing his hands together in mock anticipation. "I want to see if Chase has a brain or not."

"Why is Foreman separate from Chase and Cameron?" Wilson wondered to his colleague.

"The CDC just doesn't want the black people mixed with the white," said House matter-of-factly.

Wilson glanced over at his friend. "One of these days Foreman's gonna complain to Cuddy about frequent racial abuse."

"Heh, he's a coward. And he doesn't care."

The two doctors watched the other three shuffle restlessly in the cells that the CDC had created for them in the operating room; they had erected temporary walls to cut the room in half. In one half, Foreman waited impatiently for doctors, who were across the room from him with their backs to him, to continue sticking needles in his arms and in the other half, Chase and Cameron sat in cold silence, dwelling on the events of the night and the unfolding day, also waiting for doctors to come in and start performing tests on them.

"Can't you just feel the sexual tension in that room?" House whistled, looking intently at Chase and Cameron.

Wilson squinted at the couple. "I'm gonna assume you were talking about Foreman and that CDC person, because I can't see a lot of action between Cameron and Chase," he said sceptically.

"Argh, what do you know? They were flirting earlier on, you know," he added slyly.

Wilson raised his eyebrows, listening with renewed attentiveness. "Flirting in front of you? Who would be mad enough to do that?"

"FYI, Cameron offered Chase a coffee."

There was a pause. "I'm sorry, what?" said Wilson, face incredulous.

"I said: she offered him a coffee."

Another pause. "House, you're turning into a senile old man," said Wilson. "The offering of coffee is not flirting." He looked House up and down. "No wonder Stacey resists you; your ideas of flirting are about as non-existent as an outfit that covers Cuddy's cleavage – fully."

Cameron and Chase had started talking to each other during this brief interlude between House and Wilson. Chase was nodding at something his co-worker had said and sweeping strands of hair out of his eyes as Cameron bit her nails in an uncharacteristic way to indicate nervousness. Both appeared to be whispering in low conspiratorial voices, as if afraid of being overheard. House watched the two doctors interact with unconcealed interest.

"They are not flirting," Wilson stated firmly. House waved a hand at him to make him shut up. "What? It's not as if you can hear them talking anyway."

"Just watch the way they look at each other. They're shamelessly flirting and no one else can see it."

Chase was yawning and Cameron was now fiddling with the end of her lab coat. "Yeah, I can see them at it now," muttered Wilson sarcastically.

"You should have been there for the coffee incident," House said adamantly. "Then you'd believe me."

"Yes, because coffee is the ultimate way to declare your affection for another person."

"It is for me; Cameron gets me one every day. If that's not devotion, I don't know what is," replied House.

"I said 'affection' not 'devotion' – two completely different things."

"Not for me."

"Whatever you say." The oncologist and diagnostician paused to watch the ducklings again. Cameron was smiling at something Chase had said, though a small amount of anxiety bloomed in her eyes. Chase sat up straight, and appeared to be saying something of great importance, judging from his stature. Then they both burst out laughing. Chase made a face, saying something incoherent again, and it made his co-worker laugh harder.

"Don't go pretending you didn't see that," House said, gesturing through the glass. "They're so hot for each other, and you can't deny it. The evidence is right there!"

Wilson sighed. "They're two colleagues about to be tested for a deadly disease for which there is no cure; it's considered a normal thing to try and joke with your co-worker and keep the atmosphere light when something like this happens."

House looked at Wilson shrewdly. "Then why aren't you joking and lightening me up?"

"Trying to lighten you up is like trying to sweeten a lemon," retorted Wilson. "At least we can still joke with each other, though."

House snorted. "_I_ joke," he corrected. "_You_ just make stupid comments where you see fit."

"And _you_ interfere with your employees' personal lives because yours is non-existent," said the oncologist, continuing their childish banter.

"It's for their own good," insisted House.

"Oh, sure." Wilson rolled his eyes. "Now that you're convinced that Chase and Cameron like each other, you're going to make it as difficult as possible to make sure they _don't _get together, which, might I add, was never going to happen anyway, since they're _not_ attracted to each other."

"We'll see," said House, "we'll see. Fifty bucks says that they'll be together by the end of the month… If they're not killed off by Marburg Fever, that is," he added, scowling.

"Nuh-uh," said Wilson, shaking his head. "As I said, you'll find a way to split them up, even if they _were_ intending on getting together. It'd be a waste of fifty bucks."

"Eh, you'd have given me that money for food and stuff anyway," shrugged House.

Wilson chuckled amiably, and his friend recommenced watching the three doctors in the newly created cells in the operating room. A CDC official had just entered Chase and Cameron's section of the room, announcing something to them both; the two doctors nodded and stood up, listening carefully to what the other doctor was saying. In the other half of the room, Foreman was getting more bottles of blood extracted from his arm, looking irritable and extremely bored, as the CDC bustled around him. All of them had one thing in common though; they seemed to all have huge question marks stamped across the top of their heads, floating around their ears like brooding, dark clouds… clouds raining torrents of worry and doubt, bringing constant negative emotions pounding their thoughts. The ducklings' hooded eyes were enough to send anxiety crawling along the skin on Wilson's arms, leaving a trail of Goosebumps where it had travelled. House remained poker-faced, but solemn; joking time appeared to be over, and the atmosphere had gone from edgy to a form of tense that was breath-holdingly suffocating.

"At least, if they _do_ die of Ebola, you wouldn't have to worry about your employees screwing up a case," said Walker casually, coming up behind them, as if he was part of the conversation all along. Wilson jumped and backed away from the CDC Director slightly. House tore his eyes away from the ducklings to survey the unwelcome Englishman, who was watching him expectantly. He had just glided up upon them quietly, like a wraith slithering in for the kill, and they had not even noticed his appearance until he had made it apparent.

"We didn't hear you come in," said Wilson, regaining his composure.

"Freak," House spoke out derisively, "I bet he gets it from practising to be a stalker."

"Thanks, Greg," said the CDC doctor.

"And you keep popping up everywhere," House complained, annoyed. "Like a fly that needs to be squished."

"I'm pleased to see you too," simpered Walker. "But we may as well jump to the chase; why don't you be a good little doctor, and come down to the labs for some routine checks?"

"Over your squished body," sniffed House.

"I had a feeling you'd react that way," said Walker, sounding disappointed.

"Really, I didn't think I'd been that obvious."

"So I came with a deal," said Walker, stunning House into silence. He carried on, "This is of great interest to you, Greg, so listen carefully. I'm going to make sure you comply with everything I say from now on…"

_**A/N**: I'm currently swimming in a sea of lists of symptoms and the diseases they correspond to; I'm trying to make this fic as medically accurate as possible – not easy when I have absolutely ZERO knowledge of these matters. Note to self: become a doctor so you can write better fanfic. Anyway, that's another chapter completed (phew) and I hope you enjoyed. **Reviews are very welcome** (unlike Walker; is the author allowed to hate one of their characters?) **and thanks to all those who reviewed the previous chapter! Keep on reading!**_

**Daygoner**


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Six: Who would YOU have sex with before you died?

Cut to the ducklings…

Cameron laughed harder than she normally would have done; she put it down to nerves. Nevertheless, Chase's impression of Foreman talking to Walker was incredibly accurate and undeniably funny, so she allowed herself to give into a brief bout of hysterical giggles – it may well be the last time she would have good reason to do such a thing.

Once again, her thoughts drifted back to Ebola, and the mirth in her chest died down immediately. Chase noticed her change in mood, and set his face into a serious expression once more.

"I really hope Foreman's ok," Cameron said sincerely, looking to the wall that separated her and Chase from their co-duckling as if she wished she could see him through it.

"I don't," said Chase, wrinkling his nose. Cameron shot him a look and he hastened to add. "I was joking. Of course I don't want him to have Ebola or whatever."

"Only because it increases the possibility of _you_ having it," said Cameron snippily.

Chase sighed. "Believe what you will."

"Fine, I will."

The pair lapsed into one of their now frequent bouts of silence. Chase contemplated saying something, but he was saved by a figure entering the room. It was a CDC official. He thumped through the doorway, fat and balding, an old man with wisps of white strands that were a pathetic excuse for hair. He had a funny expression on his strangely red face, like he wanted nothing more than to be a thousand miles from here, but was also enjoying the fact that he thought he was the superior to the two holed up doctors in the room. _Talk about your inflated ego_, thought Chase, flicking his eyes over the doctor briefly. He noted the circles of sweat spreading across the fabric that coated the doctor's underarm, and that his glasses kept slipping down his nose due to the copious amounts of perspiration he was secreting. It looked like he had just run around the whole building to get here, and his cheeks were flushed with an unusually raw colour. He was wheezing and he coughed a couple of times before straightening up to face the two ducklings.

"What's happening to Doctor Foreman?" asked Cameron immediately, standing up. Chase stood up also, an eyebrow cocked as they awaited the other doctor's answer. But he merely shook his head, a few beads of sweat shaking off onto the floor. He pushed his glasses up his nose.

"We are still running tests," he said gravely. Cameron and Chase picked up on the falsity in his voice and stared at him coldly. "But before we get the results, I cannot say for sure."

"Why are you even bothering to run tests?" Cameron burst out. "Ebola has to incubate for two to twenty-one days! Not even a single day has passed since Foreman came into contact with the infected patient –"

"Wouldn't you rather we tested your colleague now, or when it was too late?" the doctor cut in nastily. "Don't question our decisions, Doctor," he paused to read her ID tag, "Cameron. We know perfectly well what we are doing."

Chase walked towards Cameron, standing beside her in what could be described as a subtly defensive manner. The back of her neck prickled as he came to hover by her shoulder, and it seemed that he was unconsciously communicating his support for her against the other doctor. Feeling emboldened, Cameron increased the intensity of her glare, determined to get some answers out of the CDC official.

"Where is your boss?" she demanded. "Where is Doctor Walker?"

The doctor shrugged. "That's none of your business. Keep your nose where it belongs, or I might have to chop it off for testing." He turned to Chase. "Now, you seem like a decent man," he said graciously, falsely, trying to get him to co-operate. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to remove you from the presence of Doctor Cameron while we perform some examinations on both of you separately. If you could please follow me, we'd like to begin as soon as possible."

"Where are you taking me?" enquired Chase, not moving until he was sure of his destination. Plus the fact that tests for Ebola were completely irrelevant, and need not be performed.

The doctor – Doctor Patterson – stopped and forced a horrible smile. "Aren't you a bit old for wanting Doctor Cameron to hold your hand wherever you go?" Chase frowned, and Doctor Patterson carried on, a leer tugging at his sweat-moistened lips. "I assure you, Doctor, you will not be far from where she is. We'll even give you a lollypop when we're done, just like in kindergarten."

Chase flushed a crimson colour. He didn't let anyone but House and a few of his co-workers tease him, or insult him without provoking a substantial reaction from him – what did this CDC idiot think he was doing? First being sarcastic to Cameron, then implying that he was a child? Who the hell did he think he was?

"Who the hell do you think you are?" snapped Cameron, jerking Chase back into the flow of the argument. He marvelled at how accurately she had read his thoughts.

"Now, now, Doctor Cameron," said Patterson in a sneering tone. "Let's not get heated up over nothing. I was just asking your colleague to come away for some tests, that's all. No need to get upset."

"Well, maybe you should ask a bit nicer," suggested Cameron crudely, folding her arms in a way that signified that she was out to win this conflict. Chase held back a smirk at this move; he had gotten used to interpreting her body language, having been in countless arguments with her in the past… and losing them.

Patterson's demeanour changed track quite rapidly. He whipped up closely to Cameron's face and towered over her, but bent menacingly to engage eye contact with the smaller doctor. His speed was surprising for his large body, and Chase and Cameron were caught unawares. "What did I say about not questioning our decisions?" he snarled. Cameron blinked, stance not wavering. "Don't you dare answer back to me, bitch–"

"Hey! Hey!" Chase threw an arm between the volatile pair, an action proving to be extremely awkward considering the other two doctors were only a few inches apart. He nudged Cameron back slightly, and positioned himself in front of her, his back to the CDC doctor. His eyes met hers, and the expression in them said _Don't bother_. She glared up at him for a few more seconds before looking past him, disgusted and fuming with anger. She pushed him away so that she was once more facing Patterson directly.

"I may be a bitch," Cameron said dangerously, "but at least I don't spend my time dodging coffins because I'm so old and fat."

Chase stared at her in shock, momentarily forgetting that he was trying to prevent the argument from turning into anything physical. He nearly applauded her, and couldn't raise his jaw off the ground quick enough to congratulate her on what was probably her very first insult, since she was too emotionally aware of others around her and didn't want to hurt them with rude comments. Well, her first insult that wasn't directed at him, House or Foreman, that was.

He stepped between the two warring doctors again, trying to ignore the murderous gazes they were shooting at him. "Back off," he ordered Patterson firmly. And in an undertone, he bent towards Cameron and whispered, "I'm not saying he didn't deserve that, but next time, just let jerks like him say what they like and ignore them because they are not worth it – humph!"

Chase heard Cameron gasp as he smacked the floor, a blow to the back of his head scattering his thoughts and sending his already worn out body to the ground. I shrill ringing drove explosively into his skull, a searing pain attached to it; the old man could hit hard! He turned as quickly as his non – responding mind would allow, trying to scramble to his feet before his aggressor could attack again. But Patterson's hands were already seizing the lapels of his lab coat and yanking him roughly to his feet.

"You got something to say, Pretty Boy, you say it to my face," he growled. Chase's head was ringing. His vision wavered from the blow and lack of sleep, and he struggled to focus on the fat ugly brute in front of him. "I said, say it to my face!" repeated Patterson, giving Chase a rough shake, his coarse breath stinging the intensivist's eyes.

Chase exerted some force over his remaining thoughts, reining them into an appropriate chain so that his body could function once more. With difficulty, he angled his head upwards so that his eyes were level with Patterson's. "I was just saying what a good washing machine you must have," he said groggily, but in full command of his tongue. Patterson was taken aback, but Chase hadn't finished. "Or maybe its your detergent? Tell me, how do you get the sweat patches off your shirts? Or do you just have to buy new clothes after throwing out a set every day?"

Even Chase had to admit that that was a low blow, but, he really couldn't care less. He was tired, bruised and angry, and this stupid old oaf was not improving the situation. He was gripping Chase's lab coat so tightly, pulling the younger doctor closer towards his body, eyeballing him as he thought of what to say – or yell – next. Chase could smell the perspiration on Patterson's red uneven skin, feel his heat radiating off his body. _Why is he sweating so much?_ Chase wondered distantly. _It's not even hot in here_.

"You think you're so smart," sneered Patterson, spittle flying into Chase's face. "You wait 'til –"

He ceased his speech suddenly, as if someone had cut off his tongue. He abruptly let go of the younger doctor, who staggered back a couple of steps, watching the old doctor double over. He was coughing, almighty coughs that boomed in his chest and resonated around the room. Sputum spewed from Patterson's open mouth, and Chase fancied he spotted traces of red amongst the yellow muck. The doctors in Cameron and Chase urged them to run forward and aid the old man, but sense held them back, wary of the pathogens that might infect them if they got too close. After all, they were in quarantine for a deadly disease, and the presence of haemoptysis in someone who was not classified as 'infected' was not a good sign.

"What should we do?" asked Cameron, sounding very out of character; afraid and unsure.

"We need help," muttered Chase, heading for the unguarded door at the opposite end of the room. He walked a couple of shaky steps and stopped as Patterson wandered into his path, blocking his exit.

"You're not going anywhere," he hissed between coughs. His eyes were watering and his chest seized up again. Blood splattered the floor in little droplets.

"I'm going to get help," said Chase loudly. "I'm going to find Doctor Walker."

"No!" Patterson cried out. "You stay right where you are!"

"This is ridiculous," said Chase, then an idea came to mind. House had used it often, and Chase was inclined to try it out himself. He got as close to Patterson as he possibly could without being in risk of contacting any body fluids that were flying from the other doctor's mouth. "Let me go and find Walker," he said in a deadpan tone of voice. "Or you're gonna end up dead."

His statement was met with a fresh bout of coughs and wheezes. But Patterson didn't move aside or say anything (not that he could). Chase was willing to bet that his dire predicament could actually prove true, if the stupid CDC doctor didn't allow him past. He ran a hand through his mussed golden hair, pondering what how to get around Patterson without coming into contact with any of his phlegm, just as someone entered through the door from the other side.

"Hey kids, I'm home!" sang the jolly voice of House, accompanied by his body, as he sauntered into the room. Then he caught sight of Patterson coughing up his guts onto the ground, grimaced, then sauntered right back out again. "Someone's dying in here!" he yelled to some unseen people down the hall. "Hey, Matt! I think one of your employees has got Ebola!"

Walker came pelting into the room, pushing past House, who seemed completely unconcerned about the situation going on in front of him. Chase and Cameron's eyes were wide with fascination and bewilderment, as Walker paged around fifty different people after taking one measly glance at the wheezing doctor before him, and edging away like a coward. Not that House was any better; he was keeping a safe distance, hovering by the door, whilst Cameron and Chase backed up against the opposite wall as far away as they could.

Nobody said a word as an entourage of CDC doctors filed into the room, lifted Patterson onto a gurney (with difficulty) and rushed him out of the door; everybody, save House, who was humming loudly to himself and twirling his cane by his side in circular motions. Walker threw House a look of irritancy, but the diagnostician merely gave him an innocent look in return and pushed the decibels of his humming one notch higher. A few underlings cleaned and sterilised the floor with practised efficiency, before leaving only the CDC Director, House and the two ducklings in the room.

"Uh, what just happened here?" Cameron said, after House had decided to finally cease his tuneless humming and come through the door. Walker shifted uncomfortably so House answered for him.

"The old man just caught Ebola," he said. "Or so the theory goes."

"We will run the tests and find out," said Walker gruffly, not wanting to admit his theory was questionable, even outright wrong; the spread of Ebola could not have shown such outward signs after that small amount of time passed between (possible) infection or contact with the virus. "But in the mean time, I want you all to stay here. Did any of the blood or sputum get onto you?" He addressed this last question at Chase and Cameron. They both shook their heads. "Good. I suppose it's safe for you all to remain in the same place for a while longer, then. You will be sent for presently." He nodded courteously to Cameron and Chase, ignored House, and swept out of the room without much further ado.

House whistled and sat down on a free chair. He motioned for his remaining two ducklings to follow, and they did so, dumbly. "What?" he said, when they just stared at him. "What happened?"

"Well," started Chase, "the hospital's just been put under quarantine, there's some crazy virus spreading around like bushfire, Patterson's just coughed up some crap into the air that we're breathing in right at this moment, you and Walker just agreed on something, and –"

"What did we agree on?" demanded House, looking affronted.

"You just took orders from Walker," said Cameron incredulously. "He told you to stay here, and you are staying here."

"Well, if I went out of this room, I'd only be going in the direction of the diseased people, wouldn't I? And what's the point of that?" said House mildly.

"But you never take orders from anyone, not even Cuddy," Chase challenged him. "What's brought on the change?"

House's expression froze on his face for a split second as he recalled the basis of Walker's 'deal'. His voice hardened. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said evasively, then clapped his hands together to show that he was not going to elaborate. "So," he said, "How are you two bearing up, eh? Has the threat of imminent death snapped some things into perspective?"

Cameron frowned. "Snapped what into perspective?"

House gave a crooked smile. "Oh, I don't know… both of you are single, right?" Confused, the two other doctors nodded. "Exactly; so you'd want to find The One before you, die, correct?"

"Uh, you sound as though you've already signed our death certificates," said Chase uneasily. "There is a HUGE possibility that we'll all get out of PPTH alive, you know. Plenty of time to find, um, 'The One' after that."

"You saw that man," said House, referring to Patterson. "He's probably gonna die, and he's spent less time with the patient than both of you have." He shot a significant look over at Chase and Cameron. "He's got no time to find the one person who he belongs with… he's gonna die alone, friendless…"

"How do you know he's not married, or if he has kids?" said Cameron, still weirded out by House's strange choice of topic for their conversation.

House snorted. "Oh, please, Cameron, if that old man turned anyone on then I'd send them directly to a neurologist... if Foreman's not dead as well, by then, that is."

"It's not the appearance that counts," said Cameron loftily, "it's the personality."

"Yeah," Chase chipped in, "and Patterson had a personality of pure gold, didn't he? What was that he called you? 'Bitch' I think it was… Plus he's probably given me a concussion," he added, prodding the tender part of his head as he said this.

House stared. "Patterson hit you round the head?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Did you fall down?"

"…Well, yeah. He took me by surprise."

House stared some more. Then he burst out laughing. Cameron and Chase exchanged a look; House, laughing? Sadism was being taken to the next level.

"Chase got beaten up by an old man!" shrieked House, tears flowing out of his eyes as he guffawed, "Chase got beaten up by –"

"Ok, ok, we get the point," grumbled Chase, blushing crimson.

"Ah, I've got to give the old boy a certificate," said House, wiping his eyes. "That's if he stays alive long enough."

"He's not going to die," said Cameron tiredly. "No one's going to die."

"But say you will," said House, quickly changing the subject. If he was gonna score fifty bucks out of Wilson by the end of the week, he might as well start playing match-maker now. "What if you were going to die in, say, a week, and you had to choose someone to sleep with, who would it be?"

"House!" said Cameron indignantly.

"What kind of a question is that!" said Chase at the same time.

House grinned. "Oh, come on, we all know you two had mind blowing sex when Cameron was high. Would you do it again, with the threat of death looming above your heads?"

"Uh, no," said Cameron hastily, looking anywhere but at Chase.

"Aw, Goldilocks, were you _that_ bad in bed?" simpered House to Chase.

"No I was not!" declared Chase, then, realising what he had said, blushed a deep scarlet colour. "I mean, well, we were just, uh…"

"Then, I'd take it _you'd_ sleep with her again, then," concluded House, giving the Australian doctor a knowing look; Chase spluttered with mortification.

"No, I would not!" he said. "And what has this got to do with anything? We're not going to die in a week, and none of us want to sleep with our co-workers!"

"AHEM!" coughed a loud voice from the door. Everyone turned to face in that direction to be greeted by the sight of Doctor James, the CDC official they had met earlier, entering the room. He looked a bit disturbed at the conversation he had chanced upon and Chase groaned inwardly, wondering just how much he had overheard about his sex life.

"Yes?" said House easily, as if they were talking about something completely normal before he interrupted. "Can we help you?"

James walked closer so that he was directly in front of the trio. He wore a grim expression on his face.

"It's about Doctor Eric Foreman," he intoned seriously. "We have the results from his tests."

_**A/N:** First off, **PLEASE REVIEW**! And **thanks to all my former reviewers** (you make me smile… and trust me, I don't do that often). Anyway, key points to consider in the story so far; House's 'deal' with Walker; Patterson contracting the disease and showing symptoms so quickly (doesn't seem very relevant, but it is); Chase and Cameron in denial; and Foreman…? Who knows? Nothing's very interesting at the moment, but hopefully, there will be more action further on in the story. Just a note to say that I probably won't up date for a few weeks or so, because I'm going on vacation, so I won't be able to get to a computer to write up 3000 words on House. Happy Easter to everyone if I don't update before I fly off!_

**Daygoner**


	7. Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

**HottScott23**, please remember to tape 'Distractions' and 'Skin Deep' for me! And tell me all about Gray's Anatomy – I wanted to watch it, but I'm missing the first two episodes (well, duh). Thanks!

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Seven: Blackmail, Boredom and Blood

_James walked closer so that he was directly in front of the trio. He wore a grim expression on his face._

"_It's about Doctor Eric Foreman," he intoned seriously. "We have the results from his tests." _

"And?" said House, sounding excessively bored. The other two doctors didn't even bother to look surprised by his reaction to the possibility that one of his employees had a life-threatening disease.

"And," continued James, and Cameron and Chase held their breaths (well, not Chase so much – he was trying to be as offhand as House). He paused to create more suspense, face as impassive as stone. "And I would like to see Doctor House privately, please."

Chase and Cameron frowned at the CDC doctor, dumbfounded that they were deliberately being left out of the coup. Cameron opened her mouth to protest, but House held up a hand to stop her. He settled back in his seat after doing this and began twirling his stick, a smug expression coating his face.

"I'm so popular," he said happily. "Everyone wants me to keep their secrets."

"Doctor House," prompted James, a tad impatiently, indicating to the door with his thumb.

"Oooh," smiled House, rising and limping over. He gave James his puppy-dog eyes, and said in an innocent voice, "You know, if you wanted to get me alone with you so badly, you only had to ask."

James was totally shocked by this statement; his stoic demeanour evaporated instantaneously, spoiled by the fact that his jaw seemed to have unhinged. "Why would you think that I was implying-"

"There's no need to sound so embarrassed," said House genially. He bent towards James, who looked as though he was struggling to stop himself from bending the other way, and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, "It's ok; Chase and Cameron may not look it, but they are old enough to understand the complexity of homosexuality. Besides, how else will they learn?"

"Doctor House, I really think you've misunder-"

"He's joking," sighed Cameron, ending the poor man's confusion; none of the CDC representatives had been able to handle House or his 'jokes' (i.e. rude, sarcastic comments). "He doesn't think you're gay."

"He might be," said House. He returned his gaze to James, who seemed to have gained back some of his composure and was standing a little more at ease. "Are you gay?" House asked frankly.

"No! What's with all the stupid questions!" demanded James incredulously.

"Classic denial," House informed Chase and Cameron. "He's so far in the closet, he's probably lost in Narnia by now."

"House, he's not gay," interrupted Cameron. "Now go and have your secret little conversation outside."

"And then come back in and tell us what's going on," added Chase, also quite interested as to what the CDC doctor had to say that was so confidential.

But House had latched onto Cameron's last comment. "And how would you know he's not gay?" he said, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

Cameron shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. I just want to know what's happened to Foreman. So could you do us all a favour and go and find out?"

"Have you slept with _him_," he pointed at James and squinted at the female doctor, "as well? Is that how you don't know he's gay?"

Cameron scoffed, refusing to rise to the bait. "Have sex with James? I'd rather sleep with Chase ag-" she started, then ceased the rest of her sentence abruptly, eyes darting to the ground and cheeks colouring with mortification. At the next seat down, Chase appeared to be unaffected, but though his eyes were largely out of focus, his ears were alert to the conversation going on around him. Cameron's unfinished comment set off a chain of hot memories burning into his mind's eye, and he scolded himself for thinking of such things. _Bad Chase_, he thought to himself. _You're thinking about having sex with a co-worker whilst waiting for news that Foreman might have Marburg Fever or something. You're turning into House. Stop. Stop. Stop._

House smirked, a delighted glint in his blue eyes. "Sorry, what was that, Doctor Cameron?"

"Nothing," she murmured, tucking strands of hair behind her ear, and meeting House's persistent gaze squarely. "I think you'd better go; your lover is waiting outside for you."

Chase and House looked out of the window and into the hall, and, sure enough, James was hovering by it. He had scrambled out of the room as soon as he could, scared off by the absurd topics of conversation that were going on. Well, House was in the room; what could anyone expect?

"I thought you said he's not gay," said House lightly to Cameron, then sauntered as arrogantly as he could manage towards the door, and where James stood, waiting.

Chase heaved a sigh as House slid the door shut behind him. "Think Foreman's got Marburgs?" he said, changing the subject completely.

Cameron sounded relieved. "No," she said confidently. "He used protective gloves; there's no way he could have come into contact with Cosgrove's blood."

"That's good…"

"No need to sound so enthusiastic about it," said Cameron, sounding disapproving. Chase made a face.

"Well, it's as you said; there's virtually no chance of him catching whatever disease we're dealing with, here," he said casually, resting his head on his clasped hands and leaning back. As soon as the back of his skull touched his hands, he regretted it immediately and jerked forwards suddenly as if receiving an electric shock. Cameron gave him a bewildered look and he grimaced, miming punching the air with his fist, and fingering the spot of impact beneath his hair. Cameron rolled her eyes.

"Weakling," she teased him. "I told you girls kick ass better than boys."

"Well, I didn't see you rushing to help out," Chase grumbled.

"What, and interrupt the show?" snorted Cameron, "No way. It was funny to see an old man intimidate you, Mr Macho Intensivist."

"Just because House is not here to make fun of me, there's no need for you to fill in for him."

"No, sorry, of course not… Wimp."

Chase groaned.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

House followed James a little way down the hall, until he led him into a small alcove, away from prying eyes and ears.

"Great. Nice and private," remarked House, back slightly hunched in the cramped space. "Did I tell you that I'm a plain vanilla heterosexual? But don't let that get in the way of our relationship."

James cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. "Doctor House, I have been ordered to talk to you about what would happen if you didn't comply with the terms in the agreement you had with Director Walker."

House turned serious, a frown creasing his lined brow. "What's he threatening to do, now?"

"You are expected to exchange all information and ideas concerning the viral outbreak in PPTH in exchange for Doctor Foreman's safety," James told House quietly. He had risen back into his former pompous self, but House was in no mood to throw a rude insult his way to deflate his ego.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked shrewdly.

"You have to tell the CDC all about the stuff you have been researching with Doctors Chase, Cam-"

"Not that part, you idiot," exclaimed House agitatedly. "The whole 'Foreman's safety' bit. What were the results from his tests? Is he gonna kick the bucket?"

James shook his head. "There is no evidence to suggest that your employee has Ebola or any other life threatening disease."

"So… you want information on our research in exchange for Foreman's safety, meaning…?"

"Your employee has no infections, yes?" House nodded cautiously. "Well, we have a number of highly contagious patients in this hospital. It would be very easy to _accidentally_ get some of their body fluids into Doctor Foreman… and that wouldn't be very good, would it?"

"Oh, I don't know," said House, as if in a great deal of thought. "Maybe we should test that theory before trying it out on Foreman first… Fancy playing guinea pig?"

James' face hardened. His voice hissed, low and dangerous, "This is not a joke, Doctor House. Director Walker was serious when he said –"

"When he threatened, you mean," interjected House.

"Whatever. Just tell us what you know and nothing will happen to your employee."

"Why don't you go figure it out yourselves?" Before James could answer, House gave his own opinion. "Well, let me guess, you've already told the news crews and the paparazzi that we're dealing with a serious outbreak of Ebola? Ooh, I wonder how they'll react when the headline's not 'Ebola strikes in New Jersey; the CDC are heroes' but 'The CDC are a bunch of useless losers who don't know anything about life-threatening diseases'? I personally prefer the latter, but that's just my opinion. Truth is always preferable to lies."

"We have Doctor Foreman in custody," James reminded him testily.

"You've got the whole freaking hospital in custody!" exclaimed House. "If I don't agree to spoon-feed you information, are you gonna infect everybody in here? Somehow, I don't think so."

"You are willing to risk all your colleagues for your pride?" asked James suspiciously.

"Is Walker gonna kill all my colleagues for his?" House countered.

James sighed. "Director Walker told me that you would not agree," he said heavily. "So he asked me to remind of a certain fact; we also have a lawyer in one of our testing rooms right now… What a coincidence it would be, if, when we're poking needles into her, one could be carrying something a bit more deadly than your average sterilised needle?"

House remained poker-faced, not revealing that his insides were actually twisting themselves into knots at hearing this threat. Already, his brilliant mind was whirring into life, trying to find a way around the latest development in his and Walker's conflict over who was going to come out on top. Was he willing to risk Stacey's health – her life! – just to gain the satisfaction of being (rightfully) crowned the best doctor out of him and Walker? He knew the disease that was causing all of this ruckus; why not just tell the CDC Director and save everybody the stress?

"Empty, threat, James," he drawled, after a moment's contemplation. "You can't infect Stacey; she had no contact with the infected persons. Her infection – or death – would be a bit hard to explain, no?"

James smirked. "If Foreman had gotten infected by the patient – he hasn't yet, but that can be easily arranged – and Stacey was around Foreman just after his infection…" he let the explanation hang in the air between himself and House, allowing the words to sink in. The CDC had thought everything through…

"Why can't the CDC figure everything out?" asked House, mystified at how clueless the agency was. "A lowly diagnostician, immunologist, intensivist and neurologist managed to come to a conclusion about this disease outbreak whilst you lot were still babbling on about Ebola! And now, you expect to have _my_ co-operation to help you amend for whatever time has been wasted? Let's just say that I'd rather give up all the Vicodin in the world than help you people clean up your own mess. Tell Walker that if he wants to blackmail a doctor into giving him what he wants, save it for a doctor who cares."

House clunked out of the alcove and made his way back to where Chase and Cameron were. He sincerely hoped that James would believe his 'I don't give two shits about Foreman and Stacey' speech, and that Walker would release the neurologist and lawyer in favour of trying another way to get him to tell him the identity of the disease that they were dealing with. House huffed frustratedly; he didn't know whether God existed, but now was as good a time as any to start praying.

James stood in a pensive silence for a couple of minutes after House's quick departure. He dwelt upon House's reaction to his offers – and threats. He assessed what had been said, and came up with something to say to Walker. Feeling ready, he whipped out a phone and speed-dialled a number.

"Hello," he said, after the line was picked up at the other end. "This is Doctor James."

"James," came Walker's crisp British – accented voice. "Report."

"Doctor House did not give me any information regarding the disease outbreak," said James. "I reminded him of your deal but he merely said that he didn't care and walked away."

"Typical House," muttered Walker bitterly. "He probably does care, but with House, you'll never know."

"What should we do, Sir?" James asked his boss.

"We can't let the truth get out," whispered the Director forcefully. "We have to get House to tell us what he knows, or everything would have been for nothing. We have to blame this on him and his team. Right now, the world thinks it's an outbreak of Ebola, so we have a little time to prepare. The slip with Patterson was unfortunate, but hopefully, no one noticed."

"And if we can't blame this on House? What then?"

"We _will_ blame it on House."

"Very good, Sir. What should I do?"

There was a beat of silence. "Let me handle it."

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

Stacey and Foreman sat in separate testing stalls, a flurry of CDC doctors and scientists flapping around them, passing bottles of blood, needles, tubes, and swabs for testing… their sleeves were rolled up, and constantly had something sticking into their veins through their exposed skin. It was a boring and painful process, and they both sat on their examination tables, thinking _Why me?_ over and over again. Foreman kept nodding off (the effects of not sleeping for the past forty-eight hours or so), only to be roughly shaken awake by a beady-eyed doctor with a cheesy smile and crooked teeth. Stacey stayed wide awake, thinking about disease, blood, death – basically all things dark and morbid. And, of course, House. Did that count as morbid?

At the same time, a doctor approached both Stacey and Foreman, in their different cells. For both of them, the doctor was holding a needle and syringe; they didn't bother to react, already accustomed to the mass of doctors that had already extracted several gallons (it seemed) of blood from their arms. They just held their arms out without having to be asked.

Simultaneously, the doctors plunged the needles into both Foreman and Stacey's arms, injecting something into their systems. Extracting the needle, they smiled and retreated, taking care not to touch the needles or the substance in the syringes. They made for a box labelled 'WARNING: BIOHAZARD' and dropped the used instruments in.

"What was that?" asked Stacey, in her cell.

"Something to help you relax," answered a young woman as she stuck yet another needle into Stacey's shoulder. "Boss's orders."

_**A/N:** Shorter chapter this time round, but I'm in China, so deal with it! Anyway, I wanted to get this chapter in so that I could go on to write more interesting stuff about the diseases and all the other crap (medical terms – yay! sarcasm), like the relationships between the characters and the CDC's secrets.Can't guarantee another update before I get back to England, which isn't for another fortnight or so. **Thank you to all my readers, especially the reviewers. Hope you all enjoyed the latest instalment – review and tell me what you thought!** _

**Daygoner**


	8. Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

_**AN:** I want to give a personal thank you to **Rubix-Complex** for urging me to update; without you, chapter eight probably wouldn't be out until May! Lol, not really. But thanks a lot anyway! I'm really pleased that you enjoy my story so much, and that kind of support is really motivating for a writer; many thanks to all my other reviewers as well. Ok, I'm gonna leave the rest of my AN for after the chapter (yeah, there's more!)…_

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Eight: Infiltration 

"_What was that?" asked Stacey, in her cell._

"_Something to help you relax," answered a young woman as she stuck yet another needle into Stacey's shoulder. "Boss's orders."_

"Oh," said Stacey. She frowned as she felt something tickle the inside of her chest, like a live insect was fluttering around in her lungs. She coughed for a few moments, then straightened up. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she assured the doctors around her. They all nodded, as one great body, then started to pack up their equipment.

"What is going on?" demanded Foreman, in his cell. The doctors continued their collection of all the test-tubes and needles, not paying attention to him, or his questions. He coughed again, rubbing his chest as a bright flare of itching pain bloomed in his lungs; a few doctors glanced at him at this, but made no move to go near him or ask him if he was alright. _Kind of figures_, thought Foreman moodily, _my bedside manner sucked, so now karma's come to back to bite me on my ass._

"A doctor will be in contact, shortly," a severe looking brunette informed Stacey. "Until then, you will remain here."

"As if I could go anywhere else," muttered the lawyer in a hushed and impatient tone.

"Great," said Foreman, a big fake smile plastered across his face. "That's just great." The doctor that had told him that he was basically a prisoner in this cell for another few hours gave him an equally cheesy smile and backed out of the door, locking it with a pronounced clicking sound. Foreman gave him the finger through the glass, then lay down on his bed, clutching his head with both his hands. A cough racked his body again, and he sat up, spewing thick yellow sputum onto the floor.

Stacey cursed after her latest coughing fit, placing both hands on her chest and willing her breathing to even out. Water leaked from the corner of her eyes and tufts of her hair had come free of the ponytail at the back of her head. _Thank God there are no doctors around to see me like this_, she thought, desperately trying to neaten herself up, which was quite difficult considering she didn't have a mirror. _Thank God House isn't here to see me like this_…_ He's probably arguing with that CDC Director, or debating diagnoses with Cameron, Chase and Foreman…_

_Where the heck is House?_ Foreman wondered angrily, disappointed that the crippled doctor hadn't come to his rescue sooner. _He's probably arguing with Walker or something… Or flirting with Stacey… yeah, that's more likely…_

The lawyer and neurologist coughed again. The build up of pain was becoming less bearable with each passing fit, and they began to worry, what with no doctors within the vicinity and a locked door serving as an unwelcome barrier between themselves and aid (if they needed it).

Foreman sighed, stripping off his lab coat. _Woah, is it me, or is it getting hot in here? _He grimaced. _Great, so now I'm asking myself questions? Must be the heat – delirium…_

Stacey had already taken off her jacket. Her mood was rapidly declining, and the heat was doing nothing to improve it. She scratched her arms, especially in all the places where she had needles poked into her, and her skin quickly became red. _Stop scratching_, she ordered herself, _Stop scratching…_

_Now I'm developing a rash_, thought Foreman irritably, noting the rawness of his skin. He hadn't even scratched it that much. He touched the sore area, then, noticing more flare ups of rash along his arm, jumped up in alarm.

_What is this…? _Stacey felt the strange lumpiness that had erupted on her neck, all along her arms and parts of her face, and leapt off her bed.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!"

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

Cameron and Chase stood up expectantly as House limped back into the room. The guard posted at their door gave the diagnostician a baleful look before unlocking the door and waving him in. The ducklings' hopeful expressions immediately melted into frowns when they caught sight of their boss's grumpy face and seething eyes. A silent exchange went on between them: _Warning, Mt. House may erupt at any given moment. Steer clear until further notice._

House, giving no indication that he had understood their soundless communication, whipped out one of his infamous board pens, strode up to a wall and started scrawling things up on it. Chase and Cameron stared at his back in confusion.

"When you don't have your whiteboard, you improvise," said House, feeling their gazes directed at him.

"You mean you graffiti," said Chase, squinting at what his boss was scribbling across the wall. "Cuddy will be pleased."

"A touch of colour here and there never hurt anybody," sniffed House.

"You're not writing swear words or anything, are you?" Cameron questioned sternly.

"Hmm, if 'bleeding' and 'fever' are swear words, then a rewrite of a lot of medical textbooks across the world is needed," said House, still writing notes on the wide stretch of blank wall before him.

"Why are you writing up all the diagnoses we thought of?" asked Chase after a couple of beats of silence. "I thought you didn't want Walker to know."

"I don't," said House, scribbling the word 'Ebola' and crossing it out twice, then a third time for good measure. "But circumstances change and when they do, you need a back up plan. Then again, is what we know, really what is true? You see, you've got to bear in mind that everyone lies; I think someone's lying here. We need to get the full picture, all the facts, before we can establish what we really know, get a plan, and then make up a back up plan."

Chase and Cameron blinked several times to help absorb House's latest spew of reasoning. House was tapping his board pen against his palm, waiting for them to do something. They just looked back at him with plain confusion written all over their faces.

"Are you saying," Cameron began slowly, "that we still don't know what the mystery disease is?"

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?" House bellowed, obviously impatient and quite desperate, which was very out of character for him. "Of course we still don't know what the disease is! Coccidioidomycosis is not an airborne disease, nor is it transmittable by blood!"

"Well, Foreman did mention something like that," Cameron said, looking alarmed at House's loss of cool behaviour. "We just assumed you knew, and we would have told you, but then Walker carted us away for testing."

House didn't have the grace to look embarrassed that he had forgotten a major factor in the diagnosis. Or maybe he just wasn't. "Of course I know coccidioidomycosis is not an airborne disease. But if you study the files of the rest of the patients in the ITU ward that caught the disease, all of them came or went to Nevada, meaning that they all had exposure to the fungi particles that develop _into_ coccidioidomycosis."

"You actually studied the patient's files yourself?" Chase found this hard to believe. Apart from when he had to do clinic duty, House always left the reading of patients' files to the ducklings, and rarely ever did it himself. This was obviously a very special case.

Cameron was mulling over more relevant subjects. "What are the odds of six patients in the same ward contracting the same disease, exhibiting the same symptoms and developing the symptoms at the same time, because they all went to the same place on vacation? That's a bit too much of a coincidence."

"That's a bit too much of the word 'same' in one sentence; get yourself a thesaurus" said House. "And there's not such thing as coincidence; where there's coincidence, there's conspiracy."

"So what's the conspiracy?" asked Chase absent-mindedly, yawning as he did so.

"That's what we're here for," said House, patting the scrawled-over wall behind him. "Gimme all your ideas; we're one person short right now and we need all the theories we can get."

Cameron also yawned then, placing a small hand over her mouth to be more polite; _is it only us_, Chase wondered fuzzily as his brain tried to think and come up with more ideas at the same time, _or does House just not feel fatigue at all?_ His boss had yet to prove that going two days without sleep made thinking very difficult… it took all of Chase's mental power to keep his eyelids open, let alone brainstorm theories on a complex disease which seemed to have no known precedents.

"Why are we doing this?" Chase found his mouth saying. "Why don't we just let the CDC do their job and cure the patients themselves? This is out of our hands, House. Let the CDC deal with-"

"Didn't I say that circumstances change? Well, just to let you know, they have, and we'd better start brainstorming because there's not a lot of time left," House berated Chase severely, still acting way out of character – a bit helpless and un-House-like in general. Chase and Cameron were feeling more and more disturbed by the second.

"Look," said Cameron, aiming for a placating tone, "we don't have a lot of information to make an accurate diagnosis here; all we have are a few symptoms and names that we're not really sure of. We need all the files and information that we can get our hands on so that we can truly find out what's going on."

"And where are we gonna get this stuff?" said Chase sceptically.

"Remember Stacey gave us a stack of files and papers with everything about the patients on them? We left them in the office when the CDC ordered us down here, so they'd probably still be there… hopefully," Cameron added, unsure of what may have happened to the now 'classified' information.

"While that's all very well," said Chase exasperatedly, "the office is upstairs and we are several floors away from there. How are we gonna get past all those CDC doctors and make it back here to House with the information? Without being caught?"

"We'll just have to be extra careful," answered Cameron simply, before turning to look at House, seeking his approval. Chase had to marvel at how willing she was to sneak around and disobey direct orders from the authorities. Heck, he was even marvelling at how willing _he _was to accompany her.

House grinned, gaining back some of his cockiness. "What are you waiting for?"

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

Chase had no time to wonder how they were going to get past the guard at their door. House, noticing this as a big obstruction, staggered over to the guard, tapping him on the shoulder to get his full attention. The man turned around, coming face-to-face with the diagnostician, and House abruptly began coughing wildly into his face, bringing as much saliva and mucus into his mouth as he could. _Might as well do it properly_, he thought evilly, as a particularly nasty cough resulted in a big glob of phlegm landing on the guard's nose. House felt a nice bloom of wicked enjoyment rise in his, albeit ragged-by-fake-coughs chest, at the sight of the man's pure disgust with having someone spew body fluids into his face. House stopped suddenly, and wheezed as heavily as he could, to prolong the effect of pretending he was being ravaged by a deadly disease.

"Really… bad… chest pains," House rasped in the guard's ear. The man was trying as hard as he could to push House off his shoulder, but the doctor just wouldn't budge. "First... first… first sign of… Ebola… con-… contamination…"

Chase and Cameron watched the guard - who clearly wasn't a doctor or medical expert - blanch with shock, and try harder than ever to push House away from him.

"Oh, my God. Get off me! Get off me, please, please get off!"

"Soon… the virus will… will… pass through your… syst-… system… and you will… will be… overcome with… with… EBOLA!" House ended his last bout of speech with an almighty cough that sent the last of his saliva/phlegm splattering all over the terrified guard's eyes, nose and mouth, and probably into his mouth as well, since he had started to scream.

"Go!" boomed House, a manic gleam in his eyes. "Tell your boss that we have a case of Ebola in testing room five!" The whimpering guard was too frightened to realise that House had magically resumed normal speech without constant wheezes or coughs. The man was frantically trying to wipe harmless (yet disgusting) saliva from out of his eyes, whilst also trying to run as far away from the diseased doctor as possible. House signalled for Chase and Cameron to get out of the room, and Chase thought he felt something whistle past his nose and into Cameron's outstretched hand but dismissed it; they left the room and paused to watch as House then proceeded to chase after the guard as the poor man stumbled down the opposite end of the hallway, calling for help. House seemed to be greatly enjoying himself now, and Cameron shook her head at the sight of her boss acting like a deluded monkey, shaking his cane and rattling down the corridor, screaming things like, "Feast on your prey, oh deadly Ebola!" and "Oh, how my brain feels like a pickled onion!"

Chase couldn't help but smirk at the truly random things that House was yelling to further scare the guard; they sounded more like the ravings of a mentally challenged patient, rather than an Ebola-infected person. But Cameron's insistent tugging on his shirt dragged his attention away from his boss and to the task at hand; that was, getting to the office undetected, steal the papers, then get back (again, without being seen) and brainstorm with all the facts present. It seemed like a relatively simple task, and Chase was confident that he and Cameron would be back in testing room five in no time. He just hoped that no-one had carted House over to the funny farm before they had come back.

Chase's confidence dropped a few notches when he and Cameron were faced with the fact that all the elevators in PPTH were out of use, and had guards posted at each door to prevent anyone from trying to enter one. What was worse was that every moment or so, a CDC doctor would patrol the corridors and if they found any unauthorised personnel wandering around, they were immediately sent to the opposite side of the hospital and locked up for testing. Chase gulped.

"Um, Cameron," he whispered, glancing at the elevator doorways from around the corner they were hiding behind for the time being, "we have a problem."

"I didn't notice," said Cameron sarcastically, peering round as well. The hallway and the lifts were well-guarded, seeing as the guards posted at the entrance to the elevators also had a clear view of the corridor that lead up to them, so they had no chance of even crossing through that way without being seen.

"Not that problem," said Chase, referring to the guards, "_that_ problem." He nodded towards the CDC official who was making his way towards their hiding place, which wasn't really even hidden at all. The doctor, who was wearing the orange contamination suit that James had been ordered to take off earlier, stopped to converse with the guards at the elevators, then resumed his steady tread down the corridor towards the two ducklings. _Damn_, thought Chase, _caught before the mission even started_.

But Cameron had other ideas. She pulled Chase further back and away from the corner they were peeking out from behind, then pushed something into his hand. Feeling a bit confused, he brought the object in his palm into the light and was startled to see that it was an ID card for a CDC official. Vaguely remembering that 'whooshing' feeling that had passed by his nose earlier, Chase realised that House had actually pick-pocketed the guard at their testing room and thrown the card to Cameron. Chase had to marvel at House's brilliance again, and also at how quickly Cameron had grasped the situation.

Luckily, there was no photo on the card, which was useful because the real CDC doctor came sweeping round the corner just as Chase managed to get it clipped to the top of his lab coat pocket. The patrolling doctor made a hurried beeline straight for them.

"What are you doing here?" he said sharply, running his eyes over Cameron briefly, who had no fake CDC ID card meaning that she had no business being out of the testing rooms. He then turned his beady glare on Chase, who was frantically trying to come up with an answer to his question.

"I found Doctor Cameron outside of a testing room without authorisation," Chase invented, grasping Cameron's arm as if he was trying to lead her somewhere. "I was just about to take her to the upper floors, to, er, a secure location where she could be checked for possible contamination."

"Hmm," said the CDC doctor suspiciously. He scrutinised the tag on Chase's lab coat. "You are aware that the testing rooms are on this floor, right?"

Cameron sent a furtive glance in Chase's direction, but had to stay silent owing to the fact that she was playing the obedient patient. "All the patients on this floor have contracted the Ebola pathogen," Chase told the man, "Doctor Cameron seems like the only doctor who has not shown any outward symptoms since the outbreak amongst her co-workers and patients." Chase was sweating freely, now. How much more did he have to make up to get past this unwelcome obstacle? "She needs to be in a more secure lab to ensure that she doesn't catch the virus."

The CDC doctor was still watching them dubiously. "You are not a doctor," he said, gaining this information from the fake ID Chase was wearing. "Someone must have sent you."

"Doctor James," said Chase, saying the first name that came into his mind. "On direct orders from Director Walker."

This had the desired effect. The CDC doctor stiffened perceptibly and stepped out of Chase's way, walking the intensivist and immunologist to the elevator entrance. "Many apologies," he simpered, waving the guards aside. "Please also send my apologies to the Director for holding you up."

Chase nodded, and pressed the button for the floor where House's office was situated. The lift doors slid shut, and they were off.

Cameron let out a long sigh. "I can't believe he bought that."

"Nor can I." Chase leant back against the wall of the elevator compartment and voiced a question that had been nagging him for the past few minutes. "Remind me to thank House for getting that ID card."

The lift opened at the designated floor, and Cameron and Chase crept out cautiously. They were met with an empty hallway, covered with a lot of plastic and the strong smell of overpowering antiseptics and chemicals. Most of the lights were turned off, so the two doctors had to creep around in a dim half-light before reaching the safety of House's office and shutting the door to prevent any intruders from seeing them. Cameron flipped the light switch, and they immediately began to search for the files.

Luckily, none of the stuff had been moved or covered in protective plastic since House and his ducklings were whisked off for testing; Chase spotted the papers in the same place where they had been left, and hastily gathered them up, stuffing some into Cameron's arms. She got a better hold on the files, before sprinting for the door, Chase not far behind. He flicked off the lights as they fled the room, leaving no evidence to suggest that anyone had entered the office.

A few feet shy of where the elevator hung waiting, Chase and Cameron were hit with the heart-stopping sound of footsteps and voices echoing down from the opposite end of the hallway. Cameron suppressed a mortified squeak, turned on her heel and pushed her way into the room that was closest to them, pulling Chase into the darkness with her. They stood in the tiny closet, chests heaving, as the footsteps drew closer and passed by the door… then came back and stopped right outside of the door.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding-" the rest of Cameron's speech was lost as Chase clamped his hand over her mouth. She gently peeled his fingers away from her lips, and he felt a small blush rise in his cheeks, grateful that is was almost completely dark in the room. He didn't need any light to tell how close their bodies were; he could practically feel Cameron pushed up against him, the heat and proximity driving him crazy. In a good way, of course.

"…and put House in seclusion for testing. Split up his employees and interrogate each of them separately; find out everything they know about the virus." There was no mistaking the British accent in the strong masculine voice. Chase and Cameron knew it belonged to Walker, the very man that they trying to stay as far away from; he was obviously having a very private conversation, so, naturally, the two ducklings decided to listen in. _House would be pleased_, Chase thought to himself shortly, before he tuned back into what Walker was saying.

"… missing? What do you mean, Greg is missing?" Since Chase could not hear anyone else pacing around with Walker, he assumed the Director of the CDC was on the phone. "Well, find him immediately… bloody hell, they've all gone? Even that woman and that Australian guy?" _Hey, we have names you know. _"They couldn't have gotten far; just get them back before they stumble upon something they shouldn't." _Too late, mate. _"Who, Doctor Foreman? No, he's already been infected… virus should take hold in a couple of hours, at the least." _Wait, did he just say 'Foreman'? Infected? A couple of hours? Holy- _"And the lawyer, yes. In fact, make sure she has an extra dose; make sure House knows that we mean business." _Who, Stacey? _"No, leave Greg to me; he won't answer to anyone else." _Huh, what makes you think he'll answer to you? _"I don't care, just get the other two doctors back where they belong." _We belong home, in a bed with fluffy quilts and soft pillows, and Cameron can… wait, bed plus Cameron – stop it, stop it, stop it; must get images out of head, must stop thinking dirty thoughts – grrr… _"And increase the guard around Cosgrove and the others; no one is to pass through those doors unless personally cleared by me. No, not even you, James. If House finds out what's really going on here…" _Well, hurry up and tell us, then…_ "He thinks its Marburg Fever and coccidioidomycosis? Stupid idiot, they're not even transmittable by air! He what? He wrote this on the wall?" _Dammit, he found the graffiti._ "But nothing about HHT? Nothing at all? Well, that's a relief." _HHT? Ok, now I'm confused. _"Just find the other two, ok? No, start with the floor they were meant to be on… lock them in testing room seven on the fifth floor; the whole floor's free and is only be accessible by the lift, so there will be no interruptions. Don't bother calling until you've found them."

Walker snapped his phone shut, and Chase and Cameron heard him stomp away. They waited for their stampeding heartbeats to cool down for a moment, before edging the door slightly open and sneaking out into the hallway again. Clutching the precious files to their chests, they ran to the elevator and jumped in as soon as the doors admitted them, wary for any sign of Walker or his associates.

"Where are we going?" Cameron asked as Chase paused. He was about to punch in the number of the floor where they had come from, when he realised that that floor would be teeming with CDC officials who were looking for them and were all to happy to imprison himself and Cameron again. He thought back to what Walker had said: '_…room seven on the fifth floor; the whole floor's free and is only accessible by the lift…' _Chase hastily pushed the button labelled 'five' and stepped back as the elevator started to ascend.

"They won't expect us there," he said by way of explanation. Cameron nodded, trusting his judgement.

A couple of seconds later, Chase and Cameron were acutely aware of a change in the way that the usually smoothly travelling lift was going up. The compartment was shuddering dangerously, and the lights kept flickering. Chase threw out an arm and Cameron grasped it to steady herself, a few of the files they were holding shaking loose and flopping to the floor. She held onto him until the elevator stopped shaking. In fact, it had stopped moving altogether. The two doctors waited for the doors to open at floor five, but were horrified to discover that they were caught between the third floor and the fourth. The lights fizzled out, and they were plunged into total darkness.

"Tell me this is not happening," Cameron moaned, still not letting go of Chase's arm.

"This is not happening," said Chase dully. Cameron whacked him lightly, then stepped closer, brushing her fingers against his sleeves and up to his shoulder to gain a better perspective of where he was standing.

"What is going on?" Cameron asked him, her breath fluttering across his cheek. She was _that _close.

Chase swallowed. "Can't be a power cut; the hospital's generator would have provided the electricity if there was an emergency. Someone must have disabled the lifts…"

He felt Cameron brush past him, edging her way around the small compartment, as if trying to gauge a way out of the sticky situation they were in. Finding none, she sighed.

"Chase?" she called out to him, coming closer once more. Chase smelt the mixed scents of her hair – fruity and sweet, with a touch of the good old hospital smell, typical for a doctor who had been stuck in PPTH for the past three days – enter his nostrils as her hands caught hold of his arm and touched upon his torso. He flushed.

"I think we're gonna be trapped in here for a long time."

_**A.N:** Woah, did you know that all the words from 'disclaimer' to the last word 'time' add up to 4,444 (not including both ANs)? All those fours – in Chinese superstition – will probably spell out bad luck for this chapter of my fanfic (four means death in Chinese)? Oh dear… there are four fours as well…_

_**I'm really sorry for not updating for the past couple of weeks** or so; I got back from my vacation two days ago and was severely jetlagged. Ok, crappy excuse, but I managed to write up chapter eight in two days so I'm pretty pleased with myself. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter; I've wanted to get some more Chase/Cam interaction into the story for a while now… but **I'm not a romantic person at all, so please give me suggestions if my writing sucks! Any criticism is welcome, especially on characterisation and the plot. **_

_**Thanks again to Rubix-Complex; all my readers owe you one!**_

_**To all the new readers – REVIEW!**_

**Daygoner**


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

_First off, thanks to all the people who reviewed! I'll try to hand out more personal thank yous once I get the next chapter out, because you all deserve one and... because I want to. But for now, because I'm tired and don't have a lot of time: THANK YOU TO ALL (even you readers who don't review, hint hint)! Ok, on with the chapter..._

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Nine: Interlude

_A few hours later; House has been thrown in a secluded cell after being caught for harassing a guard and causing him substantial damage with his stick. He is not in a good mood, and has already had blood extracted for testing – against his will. So, chapter nine begins…_

House sat in the white barren room, with nothing but his cane and misery for company, staring at the dull cleanliness surrounding him with glazed-over eyes. If he were a more feeling man, perhaps his thoughts would have been along the lines of,_ I'm stuck in a cell with nothing to do and nothing to see… this must be what a mental person feels like when they get locked up in here by a psychiatrist; gosh, now I understand how they feel… _But no, House was not an emotional man – more arrogant, and most of the time, unfeeling – so his thoughts, instead, ran as, _Crap, I'm stuck in a cell with no ducklings to torture, no Jimmy to annoy and no Cuddy to disrespect… I feel so sorry for ME… _

The door clicked and slid open, but House's eyes didn't focus when Walker sauntered into his cell. Under the harsh fluorescent lighting, the Englishman had suddenly lost his dark, roguish charm, once charismatic eyes hooded and shoulders hunched. He stalked purposefully up to the diagnostician, who was still ignoring him, but was also secretly thinking in his head, _I'm stuck in a cell with nothing but my cane and misery for company, no ducklings to torture, no Jimmy to annoy and no Cuddy to disrespect, and my greatest enemy has just walked through the door… I feel so sorry for HIM…_

"Greg," the CDC Director tried to get his attention. "We need to talk."

"Yes, that's generally what human beings do, you know, to communicate. We talk." House abruptly started to twirl his stick, making Walker have to step slightly away from him to avoid being hit on the nose.

"Oh, sorry, let me rephrase; _I_ need to talk and _you _need to listen," he said, starting to pace around the table House was sitting on, like a vulture does a dead carcass. "First things first – preliminary tests have proven you negative for Ebola, so far." Walker paused as if House had just received the best news of his lifetime.

"If you want a gushing response, you're gonna have to wait for a long time," said House, after the pause. _Like forever, since we all know it's NOT EBOLA!_

"Secondly," Walker carried on, unfazed, "I want to know where your associates, Doctors Cameron and Chase, have gone. It is vital that they do not wonder into highly infectious areas of the hospital, because they may unwillingly be bringing the disease upon themselves-"

"You mean, like Foreman and Stacey," said House, flashing his first glare at Walker since the British man had – stupidly – entered his domain. "Though 'unwillingly' is a key word in that sentence. Tell me, have you murdered them yet, or are they stuck in cells like mine and left to die of boredom instead? Hmm, I guess it doesn't matter, because they'll end up dead either way."

Walker's eyes glittered with unconcealed malice and enjoyment. He grinned, now, all traces of his former charming self gone, his feral smile transforming him into the creature that House had always remembered him to be. Not a man, not even an animal. A creature.

"I heard you refused to divulge any information to James," Walker said, with a hauntingly relishing tone. "And yes, I'm sorry to report that both Doctor Foreman and Mrs Warner have been infected with a life-threatening virus. However, they are still alive… and suffering as the disease tears down their body's defences. Can you imagine blood spurting from under your fingernails, gushing through your throat, leaking through the oral cavity and your vision turning red, because blood vessels have popped around your eyes? Can you imagine your insides turning into a mass of pulp as each organ bleeds out -?"

"No need to get graphic, Matt," House interrupted Walker. He had swallowed his shock at the fact that Walker had actually infected Stacey and Foreman, and quickly covered up with a cool façade. "I've seen grosser things in my life; take you for example."

"I was just informing you on what's happening to your employee and girlfriend. Hmm, love interest, eh, Greg? I always thought you were incapable of any emotional thought," smirked Walker.

"And I always thought you were incapable of anything decent since what you did in med school," said House, referring to The Incident for the first time since it had happened, all those years ago. The memory of it made his skin crawl, and he immediately regretted bringing it up. Walker also seemed to share his feelings; his smirk dropped off his face and was replaced by a faltering look of insecurity. House felt a niggling sense of satisfaction at this, but that was quickly overridden by a burning flare of anger – anger that had been left to stew for all those years since he left med school. But House didn't let Walker see this; no, Walker didn't deserve his anger – he deserved nothing.

"Doctor Foreman and Mrs Warner will die in the next few days if you do not comply with my wishes," Walker told House coldly, changing the subject swiftly. "But first of all, you'll tell me where Doctors Chase and Cameron are hiding."

"Would it sound childish if I said, 'up your ass and round the corner'?" House said, blue eyes chillingly icy to match Walker's tone of voice.

"Greg!" Walker boomed, "This is not the time to joke; serious punishments could come your way if you do not answer my questions!"

House rolled his eyes. "Nothing's more punishing than being in your presence, Matt."

"Dammit, Greg, just answer me!"

"Bite me."

Walker cursed and ran his hands through his ragged hair in frustration, taking deep gulping breaths to calm himself. "What can I give you to make you reconsider sharing information with the CDC?" he asked, quietly, evidently more controlled. House saw through this softer approach as a different way of interrogation and manipulation; another insult to his intelligence.

"Anything?" he said, as if genuinely considering the offer. Walker nodded, trying not to look too eager.

"Anything," the Englishman repeated, waiting for House to reply.

"How about your head on a stick?" said House, eyebrow cocked, "I hear Cuddy's an avid collector."

Walker's fingers flexed like they had to be restrained from wrapping themselves around House's neck. "Well, she can collect all the heads she likes once this quarantine is over. The hospital's going to be overrun with dead corpses, and they'll be dead because of you."

House yawned, not impressed. "That's the thing I don't get; how's it gonna be my fault, when it's the CDC who screwed up? You gonna practice that trick you pulled in med school over here?" A second referral to The Incident stoked the fires in Walker's eyes once more, and set House's stomach clenching with disgust. He realised then, that he had never disliked anyone more, not Vogler, not Cuddy, heck, not even Chase. _Hate_ was a strong word, but it didn't even begin to cover House's feelings towards Walker.

"It will be your fault because you know what disease is at work here, and you won't tell us!" yelled Walker, a bead of sweat trickling down his brow.

"Indeedy I do," said House, since he had _absolutely no idea_. This brought his attention back to Chase and Cameron, and where they were now. _They'd_ _better have those files_, he thought whilst thinking of smart comments to make against Walker.

"We've read the diagnoses you put up on the walls in testing room five," said Walker, testily. "None of the diseases you listed are transmittable by air, and since none of the other patients infected were not in contact with Cosgrove's body fluids, the disease has to be airborne."

"Unless they were all _accidentally_ injected with the disease in the first place," said House pointedly. "What, were they all rude to you, too? They didn't tell you what you wanted to hear, so you jabbed them with a deadly virus, is that it?"

"No, I just reserved that treatment for your co-workers," Walker shrugged. "Or for you, if you don't cooperate with me."

"Oooh, I'm so scared," said House, waving his hands about mockingly. "Crazy doctor with an Über virus that's out to get me. Whoooo…" He said the last bit in an imitation of a ghost, flapping his arms at Walker wildly. He bashed his stick at the Englishman a bit (accidentally-on-purpose, of course) but he didn't care so much; Walker needed all the bashing he could get.

The CDC Director slapped House's cane away angrily. "Ok, let's make another deal, then. How about -"

"What is it with you and your deals, huh, Matt?" House said shrewdly, "Even that pizza delivery down the road makes less deals than you – and their pizzas suck."

"How about I let you have-" began Walker.

"An order of two eleven inch pizzas to get a third free," said House thoughtfully, "Yeah, I think that was the deal…By the way, I like pepperoni… and definitely no anchovies. Perhaps a side order of-"

"- all the information on the patients that were infected and-"

"- spicy chicken wings, to go with -"

"- the research facilities; all be open to you and your team, so you can study -"

"- a big tub of Ben and Jerry's – oh, could you get me some of those cheesy-bread things that they recently started selling for -"

"- the diseases that have broken out in the hospital – money no object, even if it's -"

"- half price; but that's still very -"

"- expensive."

Both House and Walker ended on the same note and stared at each other for a long moment before looking away in disdain. Well, House stuck a finger in his mouth and pretended to gag, but Walker just kept to the disdainful look.

"If you had listened to me," said Walker tightly, "you might have found the deal to your liking."

"Well, I suppose it beats a soggy crust and mouldy cheese," House sighed dramatically. "All the research facilities, huh? And all the information on the patients? Wow, you must really be desperate for someone to solve the case."

A triumphant light was shining in Walker's eyes at the sound of House's approval of his offer. He ignored the jibe at his apparent 'desperation.' "So you'll do it, then?"

"What, pass up a chance to prove that you suck?" snickered House, "Of course. But I need my team."

"If this is about infecting Doctor Foreman, that was all part of the previous deal-"

"You mean, blackmail."

"Whatever. Just think, the quicker you find out what the disease is, the quicker we can administrate a cure to save him," said Walker.

House rolled his eyes. "If you think I accepted this 'deal' of yours just to save Foreman, then you are very much mistaken – I really couldn't care about Doctor Blackpoleon Blackapart. Nah, I'm just doing it to prove you suck and I rock."

Walker shook his head and made to leave. He had gotten what he had come for, and was keen to avoid any more open confrontations about The Incident. He skirted around House, but the diagnostician was quick to stick out his cane, barring Walker across the chest with it and stopping him from going any further. Walker sighed.

"What is it, Greg?"

"I want a team to assist me," House demanded again. "And not those brainless wonders you call doctors - I don't want any of _your_ staff; and since Foreman's _indisposed_, then I want Cameron and Chase to help me out."

Walker frowned. "But they've gone missing, and you're the only one that knows where to find them."

House hit him with the stick. "Don't pull any crap on me," he said, a bit more forcefully. "You know exactly where they are. I want you to get them to me, _without_ any infectious diseases and _without_ any limbs or useful body parts missing."

"Fine!" Walker snapped, knowing that his façade was useless. "How did you know I knew?"

House shrugged, a smug smile plastered across his face. "I didn't. Your reaction kinda said it all, though."

Walker growled and whipped out a cell phone. He speed dialled a number, just as House pointed at a 'The use of cellular phones is not prohibited within the confines of the hospital' sign, but the CDC Director ignored him.

James picked up on the other line. "Sir?"

Walker glanced at House quickly before speaking; the diagnostician sent him a look that said, _Take your time, really…_ "Well, I want you to do something for me."

"Yes, Sir?"

"I think it's time for two doctors to be let out of the elevator."

_Meanwhile, in the elevator…_

_**A.N.** …Dun dun dun! Haha, I'm so evil – that's a pretty big cliffy. Just thought I'd post the Interlude (even though it was a bit boring)so that there'd be less of a wait for the next chapter (plus, this chapter explains a bit about what's going on – it's a sort of link). As for Chase and Cameron… well, you'll just have to see!_

**_PLEASE REVIEW, whether constructive advice or just general feedback; I'd love to hear from all my readers… otherwise, I refuse to update! Lol._**

**_Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed!_**

**Daygoner**


	10. Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

**_My thanks to all the reviewers; keep 'em coming! _**

_**A.N. **Just to let people know, there is no sexual content in this chapter, contrary to popular belief. But there **will** be a lot of touchy-feely stuff (not in the perverted way!) considering Chase and Cam are stuck in a pitch black elevator and can't see anything. I really hope it's not too OOC (and I'm really sorry if it is). Well, here it is… _

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Ten: Behind Closed Doors

"_Chase?" she called out to him, coming closer once more. Chase smelt the mixed scents of her hair – fruity and sweet, with a touch of the good old hospital smell, typical for a doctor who had been stuck in PPTH for the past three days – enter his nostrils as her hands caught hold of his arm and touched upon his torso. He flushed._

"_I think we're gonna be trapped in here for a long time."_

Chase navigated himself over to where the emergency button was allocated and pressed it. He waited in the dark, listening for the buzzing tone that indicated that the intercom was connecting to the security mainframe. But there was only silence. He tried again, to no avail. He turned around.

"I think you're right; intercom's down," Chase reported, and he heard Cameron turn round to face him as well.

"That can't be good," said Cameron worriedly.

"Understatement of the week," said Chase, scratching the back of his head, trying to formulate a plan as to how they were going to get out of the pitch black confines of the lift. "Got any ideas about what to do next?"

Cameron was silent for a moment, and Chase wondered if she had heard him. He was about to repeat his question when the immunologist opened her mouth and belted out, "HELP! WE'RE STUCK INSIDE THE ELEVATOR! HELP! CAN ANYBODY HEAR US! **HELP**!"

Chase recoiled and clamped his hands over his ears as Cameron's shouts reverberated loudly around the small space of the compartment. The spot where Patterson had clobbered him started to whine at the raised amount of noise. "Woah, Cameron, a little more warning next time, please."

The other doctor ignored him and began pounding on where the lift doors were. "HELP! CAN ANYBODY HEAR US! WE NEED HELP; WE'RE STUCK INSIDE THE ELEVATOR!"

Chase felt forward blindly and caught hold of what he hoped were Cameron's shoulders. "I think you can stop now. Actually, no; _please_ stop now."

Chase's grasp on her arm meant that she couldn't bang on the doors any more. "How else are we supposed to get out?"

"Bursting my eardrums is not going to get us anywhere," said Chase.

Cameron smirked, forgetting that he couldn't see her. "Oh, come on, I wasn't that loud."

"Explain that to my headache," Chase moaned.

Cameron heaved a sigh. "You are so sensitive," she stated, shrugging his hands off her shoulders and preparing to scream again. Chase rolled his eyes and reached out to her face, intent on clamping his palm on her mouth before she was able to utter one syllable. This would have worked if he had caught her mouth, but as it were…

"Chase, it's bad enough there's no light. I don't need you putting your hands over my eyes as well," said Cameron, sounding a little amused. He pulled his hands away warily.

"Don't start making all that noise ag-" Chase began, but Cameron was already bashing her fists against the doors and shouting at the top of her lungs. Chase groaned and grabbed hold of her, flinging her away from the door. She struggled, making little muffled and irritated sounds as he restrained her. It was like they were little kids, unconcerned about the proximity of their bodies, fighting against each other like it was all part of a game; of course, when Chase thought of this, he became extremely aware of their closeness, and a strong blush built at the base of his neck. He was usually very strict about personal space, so his decision to – effectively – hug Cameron was surprising, and if she felt the same way, she was doing well to mask it.

She stamped on his toes rather painfully a second later and Chase had let her go suddenly, mid-struggle, and she staggered forward with a surprised 'oh,' not noticing the files that littered the floor around her. An involuntary gasp escaped the immunologist's mouth as she tripped over, flailing, falling forward blindly.

Chase heard the impact and winced as the sound bounced around the small compartment. "Cameron! Are you ok?" He felt forward sightlessly, getting on his hands and knees and crawling, so that he didn't have the same accident as her.

"Shit!" Cameron touched the spot on her forehead that had made contact with the lift wall. Her head was screeching with a painful wailing voice that was almost as torturous as the initial collision with the wall; she was exhausted and running purely on energy reserves she had no idea she had, and that, coupled with dehydration, had given her a killer headache. Cameron had been able to ignore it for a while, but getting smashed on the skull just amplified the pain to the point of blindingly unbearable. She grimaced when she realised that this was exactly how Chase must have felt when she was calling for help. She made a mental note to apologise to him later, once she was able to string together coherent thoughts.

"Cameron?" The Australian crawled towards her slowly and reaching out with one hand, caught hold of (what he thought – hoped) was her trouser leg. Trying to guess as accurately as possible as to where she was sitting, he spoke to vaguely where he head should have been. "Are you ok?" he repeated, concerned by the fact that this was one of the few times that he had heard her swear.

Cameron groaned in response, clutching her temples, slumping against the wall she had previously smashed her skull into. "I think my head's cracked in two."

"I think you dented the wall, actually," said Chase dryly. He considered threatening to scream like she had done earlier, just to make a point, but instead opted to stay serious. "That was a really loud bang."

"Eurgh, yeah, I heard," said Cameron, hands clasping the sides of her head, trying to keep some brain cells _inside_ of her brain. It was hard to judge whether her vision was going woozy or not - because it was so dark - but she was ready to bet that even if there was sufficient lighting and Chase was right up in front of her, she wouldn't have been able to see him. But then, the thought of Chase so close to her made her feel even more light-headed, so she just urged herself to concentrate on something else. Not so easy when the subject that she was trying to ignore had his hands running up and down her stomach and close to her chest.

"Uh, Chase, could you stop trying to feel me up?" said Cameron, telling herself that she did not regret the loss of warmth that his hands provided when he suddenly jerked them back. She remembered his arms around her earlier on, and resisted the temptation to start pounding on the walls again, just to get him to catch hold of her. Besides, now both of them had a headache, and she wasn't willing to make it worse.

"Uh, _sorry_, I was just, uh –" said Chase, making amends and sounding very flustered.

Cameron smiled slightly. "I was joking. It was just kinda weird that you kept stroking my stomach up and down…"

Chase flushed. He sent a silent prayer up to any God who was listening – and probably laughing – that there was no light and Cameron could not see him turn the colour equivalent to a very sunburnt beetroot.

He cleared his throat. "I, uh, thought that was your leg… Um, sorry about that –"

Cameron chuckled a little through her pain, which was, thankfully, beginning to ebb away. "Oh, so it's ok to run your hands along my legs, but not my stomach?" She laughed inwardly when she pictured Chase's facial expression at her comment – a mixture of embarrassment and that touch of mischief and cheek that sometimes played in the light of his eyes.

"I was trying to see if you were ok," said Chase, making a blatant attempt at sounding dignified – and falling, somewhat, far off the mark.

"Using excuses to touch a co-worker?" Cameron said shrewdly. "Is that a sneaky come-on?"

Chase smiled, but his voice came out as flat and tired as he felt. "I think I remember _you_ coming onto _me_ first," he said dryly, making his first referral to them sleeping together all those weeks ago. He thought he heard Cameron smother a groan, but whether that was in relation to her pain or to their wild night of sex, he didn't know. He hoped it was the former.

"Well," said Cameron lightly, "I was under the influence of drugs…"

"Using excuses for having sex with a co-worker?" Chase said frankly.

"Would it upset you if I said yes?" Cameron said cheekily. "You know, bruise your whole male ego about how good you guys are in bed and all?"

Chase wished there was enough light for her to see him roll his eyes. "I'm not House," he told her. "Besides, you didn't seem to have any complaints at the time," he added pointedly.

Cameron also rolled her eyes. "I was high."

Chase laughed. "Hey, you said it, not me."

Cameron smiled and whacked him lightly – or whacked the space where he should have been – her hand slapping into what she hoped was his arm.

"Who's feeling who up now," said Chase, as he felt her hand hit his side. He reached forward and grabbed for it blindly, luckily clasping her hand between his palm and holding on firmly. "I'm just trying to judge where you are," he told her when she instinctively tried to pull out of his grasp. Cameron stopped struggling and kept suitably still. Chase ran his other hand along her arm, and noticed that she was really quite close to him. His fingers brushed skin, and he assumed that he had made contact with her face or neck. Slowly, he crawled to her right, carefully navigating his way by keeping one hand on her and another sweeping the wall and floor.

"Ow! That was my finger…"

"Sorry," murmured Chase, lowering himself directly next to her, into a corner, hoping that he wasn't squashing any more of her limbs in the process. "Is your head alright?"

"Yeah," said Cameron, leaning against the wall, sensing Chase's warmth just beside her, and feeling strangely comforted. "Remind me never to shout around a person who's bashed their head against something hard, ever again."

"Ok," Chase smiled. There was a pregnant pause, and he suddenly became very aware that Cameron's hand was still in his. But he made no move to let go, and nor did she try to get out of his grip.

"Shouldn't we be trying to get out of here?" asked Cameron, a few minutes later.

Chase was starting to dose off, and he stifled a yawn. "There's not much we can do. I'm sure they'll find out we're missing sooner or later and send someone up to get us."

"So we're gonna just sit around and get caught?" Cameron said incredulously.

"Well, to put it simply, yes," Chase answered.

"House is going to kill us," Cameron moaned, sounding horrified at the very thought. "And when we're dead, he's going to kill us again."

"Who cares about House?" said Chase, a touch of irritation entering his voice. House, always House; all she ever thought about was House. "He's not the one who's sneaking out to get the information, and he's not the one who's stuck in a lift. To be honest, I'd rather get caught by the CDC and get told off by House, than spend the rest of my life trapped in this compartment." Chase took his hand off Cameron's. He rubbed his eyelids, feeling old and unbelievably drowsy, and also another alien emotion… was it jealousy? Over House?

Cameron folded her arms, pretending that she didn't feel his hand leave hers. "I guess you're right." She was a little put off by Chase's sudden onset of grouchy behaviour, and no longer felt so at ease by his side. She shuffled away from him.

Chase felt her moving away. Acting without thinking, he reached out a hand and pulled her closer again, ignoring her yelp of protest. She almost landed unceremoniously into his lap, but managed to grab hold of his shoulder and lever herself into an upright position beside him after being dragged closer. She was frowning (but he couldn't see that).

"What are you doing, Chase?"

He didn't answer, just put his arms around her back and pulled her even closer toward him. She stiffly let her head rest on his shoulder, then cautiously began to relax against him. One of her hands was resting on his chest, the other hanging onto his arm and she was sort of snuggling into his side, nestled in the crook of his arm. It was quite an awkward hug-like position to begin with, but Cameron was too stunned about this latest development in their relationship to complain.

"What are you doing?" she repeated in a whisper.

Chase had his eyes closed, satisfied only to have her touching him in this way. "I don't know," he answered her truthfully, envy over House slipping away as Cameron sought out his hand and intertwined her fingers with his. He breathed a sigh and rested his head on top of hers, falling asleep a moment later, the last feelings in his mind having nothing to do with life-threatening diseases, Foreman dying, headaches, information files or CDC doctors. He breathed in her scent again, and thought of nothing else.

"Cameron…" He wasn't sure if he had said this out loud, or if it was just in his head. Either way, he was sure of one thing.

He was content.

_**A.N.** Ok, I was checking up on the next episode of House ('Euphoria'), and it has a few parallels with my story; Foreman catches some deadly disease off a patient and the team races against time to find him a cure before he dies. Similarities end there (I hope) – **Note: I DID NOT PLAGIARISE**. Right, I just wanted to clear that… _

**_Remember to drop me a review and feel free to tell me anything you thought about the chapter or story in general… unless your thoughts have anything to do with plagiarism._**

**Daygoner**


	11. Chapter 11

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Eleven: A Single Word

"_Cameron…" He wasn't sure if he had said this out loud, or if it was just in his head. Either way, he was sure of one thing._

_He was content. _

Chase started at the sound of the gruff voice by his ear. His involuntary jerk also roused Cameron from her sleep, and her eyelids flickered open for one second before closing again as she fell right back into stupor. Someone chuckled nearby, and Chase forced himself to crack open at least one eye. He was rewarded with the sight of, well, sight. Light poured in through the elevator doors from the hallway beyond, blasting his blurry eyes with more brightness than he could handle, and he was tempted to just shut them and go back to sleep like Cameron had. If only he could –

"Hey, you! Come on, get up!" boomed the figure in the door, bending down to give Chase a sharp poke in the ribs. _Ouch._

That made Chase angry. And angry Chase minus beauty sleep equals violent Chase; which was probably why James recoiled quickly after rousing the slumbering Australian and catching sight of the animosity in his eyes. Had it not been for Cameron barring his body into the corner of the lift, Chase didn't doubt for a second that he wouldn't have thought twice about decorating the lift compartment with the other doctor's brain matter… assuming there was any. But, in true Chase style, he blinked to clear his thoughts, dug a hole deep in the dark recesses of _his _brain (and yes, he did have a brain - contrary to House's 'Chase is the stupidest' speeches) and buried his anger, letting the cool, calm and collected Chase surface to engulf his fiery thoughts. Funny how sleep – or lack thereof – made him just as grouchy as… House without Vicodin.

"Er, yeah, as I was saying," said James agitatedly, eyeing Chase with a little apprehension, "you've got to get yourself – and, um, Doctor Cameron – to the diagnostics office ASAP."

"Why?" Chase asked as he gently shook Cameron, but she only clung onto him tighter. Great. Chase could almost hear James sniggering, but he was holding back for fear of the intensivist taking his head off.

"Director Walker has requested your presence."

_As if I give a shit what your boss 'requests'…_Chase shifted Cameron with difficulty, so that she was leaning against the wall and not him. Her head lolled to the side, and as the weight alteration twisted her neck sharply, her eyes flickered open and she took a surprised breath in, looking around in the way people do when they have no recollection of the past few hours.

"What's going on?" she murmured almost incoherently, eyes bleary and out of focus. Chase got to his feet, joints practically creaking with the effort, and offered his hand to Cameron, pulling her up also. She swayed, grasping Chase's arm for support.

"You might want to get _out _of the elevator," James told them, voice edged with impatience, and ignoring Cameron's posed question. Chase looked over to his colleague; he doubted she would have noticed if the CDC official had answered anyway, seeing as her eyelids were drooping heavily over her usually clear blue eyes and she was wavering jarringly on the spot. Chase only had a second to comprehend what was about to happen, before it did.

"Oh, my –" He abruptly staggered forward, holding his arms out to catch Cameron's body as she fell forward, fast asleep again. _Is it even possible_, he thought as he fought to keep Cameron's body from making painful contact with the floor, _for people to fall asleep standing?_ Grunting, he heaved the lightly snoring Cameron into a vaguely upright position, and, seeing as she showed no signs of waking up, swept her legs from under her and carried her in what could be simply described as 'bridal style.' She mumbled softly and curled more comfortably into his chest, circling her arms around his neck and nuzzling closer into his shirt as she did so. Chase had one arm supporting her back and another under legs; his arms felt ropy and strong, but that only registered fuzzily in Cameron's mind as she fell deeper and deeper into the realm of dreams. Chase couldn't help but notice the slight smile on her face as she did so, and he frowned, wondering what on earth she was thinking about.

"Come on," said James gruffly, stepping out of the elevator doors, which were now wide open. Chase saw the corridor ahead, lit with lights but completely devoid of movement and life, all the surfaces and objects in the hallway covered with clear plastic film. He sighed and began taking slow deliberate steps out of the cramped compartment, so as to not drop his sleeping charge. This was proving to be quite difficult, considering he was suffering from random bouts of dizziness and a dense build up of fatigue. The thought of his bed at home made his mind wander wistfully… then the feeling of Cameron in his arms brought him sharply back to earth as he tried to get the image of Cameron plus bed out of his head.

James was tapping his foot impatiently. "Hurry up," he said like a whining child urging a parent to buy him more candy than was necessary. Chase glared at him, anger bubbling up from its burial sight. The CDC doctor huffed again (perhaps a little uneasily) and started scuttling down the hallway, motioning with his hands to encourage Chase to keep up with him.

"What's – so – important?" asked Chase as he caught up with him, breathing shallowly and panting, even though Cameron's body hardly weighed anything in his arms. _Cameron's right; I'm such a weakling… if I'm still alive by the end of this quarantine, I really need to get down to the gym and earn myself a six-pack or something… _"Why – the – rush?"

James skittered around a corner, nearly tripping over a line of plastic-coated chairs. "Oh, you know, the disease is spreading, people are bleeding and patients are dying – nothing really worth rushing for."

Chase stopped to catch his breath, even though he knew he was only a very short distance from House's office. He scowled at James' last comment, but made no effort to carry on running. Cameron sighed happily in his arms, pressing her body closer into his. _Oh, man…_

James had stopped also, scampering back to where Chase was standing. He wore an identical scowl. "Didn't I tell you?" he said with deliberate mildness, hovering close to Chase's ear, "Doctor House is waiting for you and Doctor Cameron. And from what I gather, he's not a very patient man, so –"

Chase was already sprinting before James had finished his sentence. House was not a man to be kept waiting.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

"Nice of you to finally turn up."

Chase burst through the doors, laden with sleeping Cameron and James tailing behind.

"Got caught up in the elevator," was all Chase could come up with.

House nodded, and smiled when he saw who Chase was carrying. "Get up to anything _interesting_ in the elevator?" he asked inquisitively, raising an eyebrow. James snickered.

Chase reddened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

House sighed, then decided that, for once, he wasn't going to pester the poor boy about his love (sex) life. "I was talking about theorising for the disease," he said, exaggerating his impatience, then winking mischievously at the younger doctor to let him know that he wasn't going to let this one go easily. "Didn't you and Cameron come up with anything to tell me? You know, during your bouts of touching and feeling-"

Chase grunted, cutting House off abruptly. James got the message. "I'll be on the fourth floor hallway if you need me."

"Don't worry," said House to James' retreating back. "We'll call if we need a fresh human body for testing. Do you prefer death by lethal injection – or by the cane?"

Chase shook his head and made to follow James out of the door. House quickly stepped in front of him and jammed his stick into the doorway to stop him from leaving, a wicked gleam playing in his eyes.

"So," he said, as if he was a news reporter, anxious to get the latest celebrity gossip. "How was it? You know, since she wasn't drunk or high this time-"

"Nothing happened," said Chase wearily.

House looked scandalised. "Are you sure?"

Chase gave him a frank look, then turned his gaze onto Cameron who was still snuggling happily into his chest. Something flared in his lungs as he sucked in a breath, something raw and fiery – but whether it was an emotional or physical burning (or if it had anything to do with Cameron) he didn't know. He took another experimental breath, and his chest ignited again, tendrils of fire licking at his throat. Cameron sighed and buried herself deeper into the folds of his shirt, seeking warmth and reassurance. Fighting the urge to cough, Chase held her tighter.

"Chase?" House rapped him – hard – with the tip of his cane. "Reliving the fantasies of last night?"

"No," said Chase curtly, walking through the now-free doorway. "I told you, nothing happened."

"You say nothing happened," said House, practically stepping on Chase's heels. "But we both know that's crap."

"Look, all we did was sleep together –" House let out a jubilant exclamation of glee; _Wilson owes me…!_. Chase rolled his eyes and finished the sentence:

" – as in the literal way. We didn't _sleep together _sleep together. We just… _slept_ together." _Wow, the same two words four times in one speech, go figure._

"So you just slept together, not _slept together_ slept together?" _Hah! Three times in ONE sentence – beat that!_

"Yeah… we just slept together." _Dammit, only once. Oh, my God, we're turning this into a competition?_

"Just slept together?" _Grrr, now I'm just repeating what he says…_

Chase grunted. _…?_

House frowned. "I don't get this; did you sleep together sleep together, or did you _sleep_ together sleep together… or just sleep together… or _sleep _together?" _And this round goes to House! Six times in one sentence – I'm so good! Hmm… wait, what were we saying again? Dammit, lost the original subject…_

Chase briefly considered whacking House around the head, but then he remembered Cameron was sleeping quite peacefully in his arms and thought better of that idea. "House, _we did not have sex_." He made sure to emphasise the last part of the sentence, so that there could be no misunderstandings. The look on House's face was priceless; if only Chase was in a lighter mood to appreciate it.

"Oh." _Oh yeah, original subject: sex in the elevator. I remember now… _"I don't believe you."

"Good for you," Chase retorted, turning into a room at random and peering about for something to put Cameron on. A bed would have been good. He cast about for one that was not covered with that stupid protective film, but it seemed not one of the surfaces in the hospital had escaped the horrors that were see-through sheets of plastic.

House coughed audibly behind him. "If you're looking for a bed to do Cameron on, then I think that one over there looks quite comfortable."

"Don't you have anything better to do?" snapped Chase, momentarily losing some of his recently acquired cool. First no sleep, then James poking him (more like practically begging for his finger to be bitten off), now House was on his ass again… was the whole world against him?

"Me, something better to do? You mean other than try to find a way to get out of here? Well, there's watching free porn on the internet, and then there's annoying the hell out of you guys – but I can get that from you and Cameron right here, right?" House rubbed his hands together, as if in anticipation of an eagerly-awaited event.

"I'll meet you back in your office," said Chase firmly, translated as 'clear off because I am majorly pissed and am milliseconds away from hitting something tall, lean and blue-eyed – and it's not Cameron.'

House laughed – cackled. But he got the message. "Be sure to video everything for me – I think I'm gonna need some entertainment in this place." He swaggered arrogantly out of the ward, being sure to close the door securely behind him. He was so sure Chase and Cameron were going to end up together by the end of the week; he smiled evilly as he imagined Wilson's face when he had to hand over the fifty bucks. It wasn't so much the money, but the feeling that he was right; House liked that feeling, and experienced it often. It was almost as addictive as Vicodin.

Grinning foolishly, he hobbled back to his office, and awaited the arrival of Chase. It was only then that he remembered that Foreman was locked up somewhere, dying of some deadly disease, and that he and what was left of his team had done virtually nothing to help the situation. This was not the time for porn or sex tapes.

He seriously hoped that Chase hadn't taken him seriously on the whole video thing. Chase was pretty brainless, after all.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

Chase picked up Cameron and laid her on the gurney he had prepared for her, or basically the gurney that he had ripped the plastic coating off, exposing the blankets and pillows. At least she would be warmer and more comfortable on it.

Chase placed her delicately into the middle of the bed, and drew up the sheets around her, and wrapped her carefully into the blankets. He took special care around her head (did she have a concussion?), making sure that it was rested as comfortably as possible on the stiff hospital pillows. Tresses of her auburn hair caressed her cheeks and fluttered around her face as she breathed in and out in the relaxed state of sleep. Chase cocked his head for a moment, just to listen to the sound of her even breathing in the deathly silence of the room. He knelt and bent closer, looking intently, mutely towards her face and reached out a hand to catch one of the tendrils of hair that would flitter in the air around her nose because it seemed like a perfectly ordinary thing to do…

As an exhaled breath licked the palm of his hand, he thought he caught faint sounds that whispered out past his hand, along his arm and jumping off his shoulder into his ear canals. Frowning, he noticed that Cameron's lips were moving, and she was murmuring things in her sleep. It wasn't a nightmare, as far as Chase could see; a faint smile creased the skin around her mouth and she was curling quite happily into the bed sheets around her. What was she saying? Did it have anything to do with what she was dreaming? Curious, Chase leant even closer to her, trying to trap every sound that came out of her mouth so that he didn't miss a thing.

Cameron mumbled softly. Chase wondered, again, just what exactly what she was thinking. Cameron said something incoherent once more. Chase couldn't help but smile. It felt nice; the sound of her breathing, her 'happy' sounds as she lay at complete rest, her smooth and textured features soft and relaxed. He couldn't help but feel that satisfaction that he felt when they were in the elevator together, that sort of bond that was not physical but was like reaching out to touch something that wasn't really there – and when your fingers brush it, what you once imagined is suddenly there. He couldn't explain it. It was not real, not really there, but it was. It just was.

"Hmmm…" Cameron murmured again. "Hh – mm…"

Chase waited to see if any real words would form. What was she dreaming?

"Hh… House…."

It's funny how a single word can rock your world. Chase thought that as he pulled away from Cameron's face, as he traipsed silently out of the room. He turned to shut the door, but found that it was already sliding shut behind him. Cutting him off from something he thought was real.

_**A.N. **I'm sooooooooooooooooooooooooooo sorry that I haven't updated for so long. I've just finished my finals, so now I've got LOADS of time to write fanfiction. _

_**Thank you all for your FENOMENAL response to the previous chapter. I was so touched by the amount of reviewers who left me a note; sorry if I didn't get to reply to all of them this time, but I will next time! Again, I'm extremely sorry for the long update. I hope it was worth the wait!**_

_Hope you enjoyed!_

**Daygoner**


	12. Chapter 12

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I did watch it religiously… before the season ended!

_**A.N. **I hope you'll understand the material in this piece; it's can be quite confusing, and perhaps it's better if you read between the lines. Nothing is as 'in your face' as with the other chapters, and I'm sorry if this is confusing. Oh, and the first bit (in inverted commas) is an extract from chapter 11 - that's where this chapter picks up._

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Twelve: The Things I Make You Do

'_Cameron's lips were moving, and she was murmuring things in her sleep. It wasn't a nightmare, as far as Chase could see; a faint smile creased the skin around her mouth and she was curling quite happily into the bed sheets around her. What was she saying? Did it have anything to do with what she was dreaming?'_

_Cameron and Chase argue heatedly in House's office before the immunologist storms out and races back to her apartment. Chase tails her relentlessly, refusing to end the argument where they had left it. He stops her before she can escape to her home…_

They stood facing each other, a few meters apart, both pairs of equally expressionless eyes boring into the other's, daring them to submit. To both of them, the origins of the argument was now unknown, but they refused to back down anyway. Cameron's hand rested lightly on the handle of her door, halfway through the process of unlocking it; Chase was framed by the harsh lighting of the hallway, demeanour relaxed and face impossibly impassive. Cameron blinked, set her jaw and pulled out a key, letting herself into her apartment. Without waiting for an invitation, Chase followed behind her silently, but not once did she turn around to acknowledge him. Nor did he make an effort to be acknowledged. She ground her teeth in frustration, bustling about as if he was not there… which, of course, he was; and he was watching her.

_I will make you so in love with me, every time you look away, your eyes will shed a tear…_

Cameron heaved a sigh whilst pouring herself a cup of strong black coffee. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. A single drop of salty liquid slid down her cheek and dripped onto the countertop. She gasped at her own weakness, and wiped a hand across her face. A couple more tears leaked from her eyes.

All because she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

_I will make you so in love with me, every time you catch my gaze, you'll see nothing else..._

Cameron sniffed inaudibly and dashed away the wetness off her cheeks. Chase still hadn't moved since walking into her apartment, and when she finally glanced at him and met his eyes, she cursed herself, knowing that she couldn't look away. She was horrified, captivated and confused – all those feelings from a single emotionless stare.

_I will make you so in love with me, every time you hear my voice, your heart will sing the harmonising melody…_

"Cameron."

Cameron jumped, unaware that Chase had moved and was now standing only a couple of steps away. She staggered back, putting as much distance between them as possible, her heart pounding so furiously in her chest that she was worried her ribs might crack.

All because he had whispered her name.

_I will make you so in love with me, every time you feel my breath on your skin, you'll forget to breathe in…_

He was so close now, she couldn't see anything past his solemn eyes and striking features. Without even physically touching her, Chase had her pushed up against the table, back arching as far over the surface as possible staring up at him in what could be described as pleading or desperation.

"I'm not going to apologise for what was said," Chase murmured softly. He saw a spark of emotion in her eyes for a mere second before it disappeared behind a mask of indifference. He leaned forward so that his mouth was millimetres from her ear and she could catch every word that escaped from his lips, and so that she understood their meanings to the fullest. She tensed and Chase could almost feel her holding her breath, preparing for his dire predicament or whatever. Her body was rigid, cold, held out of reach.

All because she could feel his words caressing her ear.

_I will make you so in love with me, every time I get close, you'll never want me to leave your side again…_

"I just want you to know that this –" Chase wrapped his hands around her petite waist, leant in further and planted a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck, "– our physical bond… It doesn't mean anything in comparison to our emotional bond."

The original argument came back to her; Chase had accused her of still going after House, even though they were not in a real relationship themselves. At his words, Cameron choked but made no attempt to break out of Chase's grasp. "I don't fall for clichés."

Chase smiled and nodded. "But you fell for me."

_I will make you so in love with me, every time we kiss, you'll die by my lips…_

"We don't have an emotional bond!" Cameron snapped frustratedly, bemused by Chase's alien arrogance and airy confidence. This was not the Chase she knew…

"Then what do we have?" Chase's hands slid further up her back and tangled themselves in her hair. Cameron couldn't help it; she shivered at his gestures and her hands started to run themselves across his chest.

"We have… we have… we have this." A dam had burst in her chest, as Cameron reached for Chase's tie, yanking it hard, pulling his head down towards hers. She lost herself in a pool of whirling emotions – confusion, lust and love – but none of them were clear to her, as she drowned herself further and further in the man's kiss.

She gripped his face, feeling the stubble there, and ran her hands along the short strands of hair that protruded from his scalp. She savoured every taste of the man that held her so lovingly, and promised herself that she would never forget this kiss, never forget a single smell, taste or feel of the person that wanted her the most. When they finally broke away from one another, their lips were red and they were breathing unevenly. But still holding each other.

"I love you Cameron."

Cameron looked up into the clear blue eyes that hovered serenely above her, emotional waters still coursing from the broken dam in her heart. Her mind was telling her that the man she beheld was not possibly who she thought it was, but another part of her brain told her that this was right.

"I love you too… House."

_I have made you so in love with me… you will never fall for anyone else again._

_**

* * *

**_

_**A.N**. Romance is NOT my strong point and sorry if that was overly-sappy. Also, I'm not gonna be around civilization for a while (I'm going camping), so updating will come in at a later date._

_As always: **Please review and tell me what you thought!**_

**Daygoner**


	13. Chapter 13

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

_**A.N. **The previous chapter displayed the contents of Cameron's dream (ie. not reality). When Chase 'morphed' into House, it showed that shewas attracted to Chase on a lot of levels, butwas still, subconsciously, attached to elements of House at the same time. Sorry if it was confusing; I hope this clears it up slightly!_

* * *

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Thirteen: When You Least Expect It...

"_Hh… House…."_

_It's funny how a single word can rock your world. Chase thought that as he pulled away from Cameron's face, as he traipsed silently out of the room. He turned to shut the door, but found that it was already sliding shut behind him. Cutting him off from something he thought was real. _

Chase's face was inscrutable as he swept into the diagnostics office and swung himself into a chair. He didn't express any thought or word, instead choosing to begin work at once on the case at hand. He pulled a loaded file closer to him, from the pile stacked high on the table, and began to read.

House's face was inscrutable as he sat in the diagnostics office and swung his cane from side to side by his chair. He didn't express any thought or word, instead choosing to continue pondering the case at hand. He pulled a ball closer to him, from the pile stacked high on his desk, and started to throw and catch it.

Neither doctor felt it necessary to say or do anything that might involve interacting with the other. For once, they both respected that the other needed the personal space to think or dwell on the previous events of the unfolding days. House noticed Chase was different; Chase noticed something about House wasn't the same. In the hindsight of their minds, both doctors knew and sensed a change in the other person's character, but they had their own worries and bothers to think on, and everything that might have been important before, now seemed to fade from thought.

"What have you got?" House finally broke the brittle silence, his edged voice cutting through the air like cool steel.

Chase didn't look up from the untidy scrawled notes on the paper. "The original patient: Joe Cosgrove… medical history seems fine, but there are cases of recurrent nosebleeds from a young age, up 'til now… telangiectasias on upper thigh and around the nose… anaemia…"

House frowned slightly. "'Medical history seems _fine_'?" he quoted. "That's quite a lot of blood problems, but _they_ don't endanger your health at all, right?"

Chase shrugged his shoulders, continuing to analyse the sheets in front of him. "Recurrent epistaxis does not pose as a big health problem… and I really doubt even the most frequent and heavy nosebleeds cause anaemia. Abnormal blood vessels could mean a lot of different things, but –"

"Any finger clubbing?" House cut in, and Chase ran his eyes over the report quickly.

"No."

"Hmm. When you saw Cosgrove before he checked himself into a body-bag, did you –"

Chase's ears pricked at the unfinished question. "Wait, Cosgrove is _dead_?"

"No, he just thought that body-bags were more comfortable than hospital beds."

"When did you hear?"

"When I was told."

"When were you told?"

"When you were playing the faithful steed to Princess Cameron."

Chase ran a hand through his hair, a little frustration seeping through the careless holes in his hardened façade. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did," said House coolly, not seeming the least bit unruffled, but perhaps a slight bit colder. Lucky for him, Chase was not the sort of person to push the point.

"What about Foreman?" This was the first time the neurologist had really crossed his mind, and Chase was faintly disgusted with himself; how could he be so self-absorbed at a time like this? "Have we got any more news on his situation?"

House shook his head. "Nope… He's doing ok… developing a nasty rash of some sort, but nothing else… oh, and he's had three nosebleeds in the past hour, and his phlegm has turned a nice shade of red…otherwise –"

Chase blanched, the first sign of any emotion showing on his face. "He's _what_?"

"I said, he's developing a rash and –"

"You mean he's been infected!" Chase was now sitting on the edge of his seat, fingertips gripping the edge of the table in anxiety. Why hadn't he thought to ask about his colleague before?

"You didn't know?" House cast him a mildly surprised glance and Chase's frown deepened.

"Does this look like the face of someone in the know?" he snapped, giving way to the bubbling irritation inside him. Why didn't House say anything before?

House bounced the ball up and down a couple of times. "Yeah, well, I've had my suspicions."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if we don't figure out what's going on here, there's a good chance that our good friend Foreman's not gonna be joining us for any more consults."

Chase was incredulous. "How could you sit on this since talking to James yesterday? Foreman could die, and we'd still not know about it!"

House caught the ball in his hand and squeezed it, fingers turning white with the effort. "Aw, poor Chase, not knowing anything; my heart bleeds for you. No, sorry, Foreman's lungs bleed for you… literally."

Chase's lips drew into a firm line across his face, the reminder of his own father's secretive death stinging his memory painfully. He didn't know anything about that either. "How could you joke about this?"

"Easily." House's knuckles cracked softly, and the ball seemed to be getting squashed into a smaller and smaller shape. Chase made a choking sound of barely disguised contempt, pushed himself away from the table and made his way over to the sink. He leaned over the basin and focussed on nothing but the little droplets of water leaking from the tap, afraid that his meticulously-made mask would crumble at the mere sight of his boss. But then, it already had – and House knew it.

"Don't bother pretending to care again," House said quietly behind him. "We went through that with Cameron and her HIV."

Chase's nostrils flared, but he did not turn around. "Caring whether someone dies or not should be within any human's capability of feeling."

House gritted his teeth and crushed the ball with even more force. "Then I guess I don't qualify as a human, then."

Chase whirled round. "What the hell is wrong with you, House?" he hissed threateningly, dangerous fury sparking in his flashing eyes.

House's eyes glinted darkly, contrasting sharply with Chase's crackling irises. "If you care so much, then why are you hiding by the sink? Why aren't you sitting at your table, solving the case?" He paused, waiting for Chase's reaction, carrying on when he saw the Australian clamping his lips even tighter together. "If you cared so much, why didn't you ask about Foreman earlier on?" Chase's breathing intensified, his chest heaving, and House found that he could no longer feel the fingers that gripped the ball in his right hand. "I suppose people only matter to you when they're about to die, right?"

Chase found himself snatching another file off the table and opening it; how he got back to the table, he had no idea, but he didn't take his eyes off House for one second as he did so. The diagnostician regarded the intensivist icily, refusing to sit down even though his leg was killing him, and his fingers were tightened and motionless. Annoying the younger man in front of him was worth every moment of his discomfort.

"Touched a nerve there, didn't I?" House limped towards Chase, teetering on his toes as he inched forwards. "You didn't give a toss about Foreman until you heard he was next up on the list for the Grim Reaper's birthday bash... VIP pass, even. He's gone in under twenty hours, judging by how long Cosgrove lasted."

"Then we still have time," said Chase cagily. "Let's just solve the case."

"Chase, I don't have a team!" House snapped, the ball straining further against the force of House's hand. "Cameron's out for the count, Foreman's officially our patient, we have no idea what we're treating and _you're_ standing around pretending to read stupid, irrelevant files! What are we supposed to do, wait around for Foreman to go blood volcano on us before we _finally_ figure something out? 'Let's just solve the case' – yeah, come on then, let's hear it. What's the great Chase got to say about this, huh?"

Chase clenched the thick file between his hands and continued to stare, dumbfounded, at House. He was so clueless, his composure scattered in various bits all around the room that had once been his place to think, collecting in clusters and throwing themselves at Chase, who could do nothing to defend himself against the onslaught of un-House matter that kept assailing him. His boss was distressed. Something was making him really agitated. Typical for House to bottle it up and let it explode inside him, blowing all parts of his self-control in fifty different directions; Chase was in the immediate vicinity and received the brunt of the blast, and had no time to cower from the falling debris. Too late, the equally distraught Australian realized that he was also storing up the raging fury felt over all the things that were going wrong; so when the last bits of lava from Mt. House had gurgled forth from House's little bottle of emotion, Chase found that they had ignited something just as fiery inside of him. Chase felt the flames lick his chest before the explosion of emotion that followed soon afterwards.

"I know I'm not Cameron or Foreman, but I'm all you've got right now," he said, words spilling from his mouth like machinegun-fire, voice clipped and chipping repeatedly at the ice between his and House's gaze. He was so sick of people insinuating that he was the stupid one, the one that didn't influence the diagnosis in any way because he had nothing valuable to add. And right now, he was sick of House more than anything else. "That may not be good enough, but –"

"You're damn right it's not good enough," House spat. He turned round, plucked his cane off the chair and made his way out of the office. "Get Cameron," he ordered, opening the door, "I don't care if she's dying of exhaustion – she can die _after_ we find out what the hell's wrong with Foreman."

"House!" Chase yelled at his boss. "You can't just walk away!"

"Watch me."

Something in Chase snapped. He bounded up to the door and grabbed House's arm, pulling him back with such force that they almost ended up falling backwards into the room. "Not until you tell me what's wrong with you."

House turned his eyes on the young doctor, nothing on his face betraying his expression, but his eyes smouldering in their sockets. "Why ask when you've already figured it out?" he said, voice deceptively quiet. "'Insufferable asshole' you said, 'not human' – well, isn't that good enough? Isn't that what's wrong with me?"

Chase frowned, but didn't loosen his grip on House's arm. "What are you talking about?"

"You think I don't care," House began, words fighting out of his mouth through gritted teeth. "And I don't… I really don't."

"House, I really –"

"Stacy's dead," House said in a monotone. "She's dead."

The cold, empty words echoed around the room and settled like decaying leaves on Chase's shoulders. House turned away and wrenched his arm out of Chase's hand, proceeding to stagger out of the room. The door clicked shut as House's footsteps faded from earshot, the walk of a hollow man who knew how to feel, but was afraid of showing it. The walk of a broken man.

Chase looked down to the floor, unsure of how to react. By his feet were the torn shreds of the ball House kept crushing. White power spilled from the broken toy and littered the space around where it had been dropped. It was destroyed, beyond repair; in a single, tense moment, it had been completely obliterated, its outsides exploding from a carefully manufactured, tight-knit shell that now lay in pieces around it.

_Just like House_, thought Chase, opening the door and following the footsteps of the broken man…

Into an even more broken world.

* * *

_**A.N. Sorry about taking so long to update! **_

_**I know House and Chase were OOC in this chapter, and I'm sorry for that.** I've been having trouble putting the characters through all this stuff in such a condensed time period, and **I apologise if their reactions were a bit… off**._

**_As always, REVIEW and tell me what you thought! Thanks for reading,_**

**Daygoner**


	14. Chapter 14

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

_**A.N. Thanks to: **_

_**Katie **– I'm really glad you're enjoying the story. Believe me when I say that I have no idea what the medical stuff is about; I spent ages looking up stuff on the net and asking medically-knowledgeable friends of mine. Hope you enjoy this chapter._

_**Mkyp **– Here's the update! Enjoy, and thanks for the review!_

_**Princessjasmine** – All that praise! Thank you! I don't know what to say, so I'll just smile. Hope you like this extra-long chapter and thanks for reading/reviewing!_

_---------------------------------------------------------------------------_

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Fourteen: Revelations Don't Come Easy

_Just like House, thought Chase, opening the door and following the footsteps of the broken man…_

_Into an even more broken world._

"Cameron."

Her eyes flicked open, and she was motionless for a moment whilst she waited for her vision to clear. Blinking rapidly, she raised her head quickly, groaning as her neck clicked with the force of the sudden movement. She brushed the tousled hair off her shoulders to massage her neck.

"Eurghhhhh. Did someone page me?"

"Huh?"

Cameron stuck a hand out for the pager she had left of the bedside table. It needed to be close so that she could hear it when it bleeped; she was on call. After feeling around for the small object unsuccessfully for a few seconds, she turned her head left and found her hand hanging in mid-air. She could have sworn –

"_Shit_. How long was I out?"

Chase had to step back quickly as Cameron threw herself out of the hospital bed, wild-eyed and urgent.

"Not long."

Something had gone wrong – she could read it in his eyes. "What's happened? Why didn't you wake me before?"

Chase thought for a few moments, choosing carefully what he was about to say. "Walk with me," he told her evasively, turning and exiting before she could ask any more questions.

The immunologist practically flew out of the door after him, pulling her hair hastily out of the back of the lab-coat she had flung on. "Well?" she demanded, easily out-pacing his calm stride.

"It's House," he said impassively.

A frown creased Cameron's brow instantaneously. Chase didn't elaborate.

"What about House?" she asked in a low voice that dripped with impatience.

"Remember you said that Foreman took all the safety procedures when handling Cosgrove's blood?" Chase began neutrally.

Cameron nodded, fearing the worst. What else would House be so worried about? "What's happened to him – to Foreman? Is he ok?"

"No better than the other patients with the disease."

Cameron was momentarily shocked. "He's got the disease? But House didn't tell us… he _must_ have known, James must have told him… But – how –?"

"My guess is as good as yours." Chase kept his eyes carefully shielded under locks of blonde hair so that she couldn't see the guilt that churned in them. Judging by her silence, Chase knew that Cameron was feeling just as remorseful for neglecting to spare a thought for their colleague as he was. But strangely, he was not inclined to share any thoughts or words of comfort with her at this moment in time. He bit his tongue.

The silence was short-lived, however, when Cameron – inevitably – realized that Chase was still holding back on the original subject. "What's wrong with House, then?" she asked him, keeping the apprehension in her voice down to a bare minimum. The other doctor opened his mouth to answer, but she stopped him. "It's got nothing to do with Foreman, does it?" she added flatly. Chase blew out a breath, the air hissing between his teeth, now choosing to avert his eyes completely from her direction. Something was going on between those two, Cameron deduced – but it could wait. For now.

"It's Stacy." The immunologist found herself stopping in the middle of the hallway. Chase threw a blank look over his shoulder at her.

She gulped. "Is she –"

"Dead." Chase inclined his head in a single nod. "That's why I starting with telling you about Foreman – we have no idea how she got the disease. She had no contact with the patients, so –"

"Where's House?"

Chase raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. Why?"

Cameron looked at him like he was mad. "We need to talk to him."

"I already have," Chase told her. He casually swept the hair out of his eyes, but kept them focussed on his feet. "I don't think he wants to face anyone right now."

Cameron set her jaw stubbornly and marched up to the intensivist so that she could stare him down. Whilst she glared, he merely continued looking away emotionlessly. "He needs someone to talk to," she said resolutely, referring to House. Chase's demeanour was pissing her off to no end; he acted like he didn't care about the fact that a) their colleague was probably dying of some unknown disease and b) that House had just lost someone that he loved. Would it kill him to show _some_ compassion – especially now?

"He needs space," said Chase quietly, talking to the wall. "Give him time to absorb the news. He wants us on the case – we should just listen to him and get on with it."

Cameron fought the urge to growl. "He needs someone to talk to," she repeated, grinding out the words.

"And Foreman will die if we don't get working on the case," countered Chase.

Cameron sucked in a quick breath, barely containing her anger at Chase's refusal to help House. "I just want to make sure he's ok."

"He's fine."

"I'll be the judge of that." Cameron brushed past Chase brusquely as she carried on down the hall. She thought of all the places where House could be, and decided on checking in the hospital's morgue first. She found she had yet to absorb the fact that Stacy was dead… the word 'morgue' just seemed to be such a finite term for it. Unlike the ER, where patients could come in without a beating heart but be revived, the morgue was a place for the truly dead – the dead who would never come back, defibrillators or not.

"Hey – wait!" Chase caught up with her and grabbed her shoulder. "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think?"

"But House said to stay and figure out the case!"

Cameron shrugged Chase's hand away and made to stride off again, only to have the other doctor catch hold of her arm, ceasing her from proceeding once more. Snatching her arm back furiously, she whirled to face him, unrelenting impatience and rage threatening to cause all her internal organs to implode. She was now standing inches away from him.

"Look, Cameron, I –"

She reached out swiftly and caught his jaw before he got any further. Holding his chin firmly in her hand, she pulled his face down so that they were eye-to-eye. Chase was startled to see so much roiling emotion sparking in her electric irises. He fought the impulse to blink or pull back, feeling a slightly mesmerising draw that bound him to keep from shattering the frail air between them.

"Trying to stop me will only delay working on the case more than necessary," she informed him, voice icy, but breath warm on his cheek. "Just let me go… House needs me," she added in a whisper, eyes softening immediately as she said their boss's name.

Chase jerked his chin out of her grip and stepped away from Cameron, breaking her hold – both physical and emotional – over him. He was unable to keep the disgust from his voice. "Alright, go to House. Just remember that Foreman needs you more. His life is in your hands, now."

Cameron remained stoic, though Chase's words resonated heavily in her ears. "I need to go."

Turning on her heel, she walked down the corridor. She breathed a sigh of relief when made it to the stairwell. But before she even descended three steps, Cameron caught Chase's disembodied call from down the hallway she had just left.

"Why?"

At first the question threw her. Then, as the disjointed images of an unresolved dream danced through her mind and unbidden feelings for two completely different people arose in her chest, Cameron found that she couldn't answer. Conflicting emotions and desires constricted her chest and polluted her thoughts. Shaking her head to clear her head of meaningless visions, she resumed moving down the stairs, the question hounding her every step of the way.

Up in the hallway, Chase already knew the answer to his question. Yet, he couldn't help lingering in the futile hope that maybe – just maybe – he would be proved wrong. But he was only left with the sound of her footsteps dissipating slowly into silence; and it was the still silence that became the confirmation to what he already knew was true.

"… Because you love him."

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

It would have been too easy to go to the morgue and mourn, to release all his emotions in an hour or two of pointless tear-shedding. But House was never one to take the quick route out (unless it was to escape clinic duty), and was not about to start crying to relieve himself of fluid – that was what the men's room was for. He stepped out of his office, feeling strangely refreshed by his argument with Chase, then set about searching for another way to relieve some tension. House was on the prowl.

"Move," he said, shoving some random doctor out of the doorway and ambling through himself. "Out of the way," he sniffed, nearly upturning a nurse as she scurried by. "Cane coming through," he said snidely, booting a patient to one side of the hall. "Get your ass –"

"Do you really want to finish that sentence, House?"

"Sorry, my mistake: get your _breasts_ out of the way so that I can pass," said House, bowing mockingly to Cuddy's cleavage. She stepped out of range quickly. House straightened and carried on walking.

"Where are you going?" Cuddy ran up after him.

"I don't know. Where are you going?"

Cuddy puffed, affronted. "I don't know either. I'm following you."

House sighed inwardly, the repetition making his head spin. "Work with me now, Cuddy; you have to tell me where you're heading so that I can go in the opposite direction."

"I wanted to talk to you," explained Cuddy gravely.

"Talk away. Just don't expect me to listen." House let himself into the men's room; time for some routine bladder-emptying. Plus, the hospital dean couldn't follow him in.

"I'm going to the bathroom. I'm not gonna fall in, you know," he said cautiously, eying her as she continued to tail him.

"I know… But what I want to talk to you about is important."

"I don't take that long to pee. Must be really important." He paused before adding, "Why the long face? What happened, someone died?"

Cuddy winced, turning around as House unzipped his pants. She said softly, "I'm sorry, Greg."

House pulled down his trousers. "For what, spying on me in the men's room? I know you've made a habit of it – there's no need to start apologising _now_."

Cuddy held in a groan at House's frequent brush-offs. "I know you're upset. I know what Stacy meant to you, to all of us."

House could feel the re-emerging tendrils of anger leech their ways to the surface of his hardened exterior. "Upset is a mild word, Cuddy." He hitched up his pants, collected his cane and washed his hands under the tap, the cool water doing nothing to quell his fiery thoughts.

"Hiding in the bathroom's not going to help you," Cuddy advised softly, turning around as she heard House ripping paper towels from the dispenser. "Come to my office. We can talk, get away from the case."

House raised an eyebrow. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Well, I thought – it might be, um, you know, awkward for you because –"

"This is still _my_ case, Cuddy," House intoned seriously, tossing the used towels into the bin. "People die. I can't save everyone."

"Exactly. Which is why – maybe – you should leave the case to someone who's not – er – emotionally attached to the case in any way," Cuddy amended.

House's blue eyes blazed. "Stacy's dead. Ergo no emotional connections whatsoever. Not anymore."

Cuddy blew out a breath, sympathy radiating from her concerned features. House looked away, not wanting to see it. He didn't want her pity. So, not taking the alienating silence for granted, he glanced down at his watch and noted the time. With still three minutes to go, he leaned against the wall and poked the floor disinterestedly with his cane. How to get rid of Cuddy…?

"Do you want to see her, Greg?"

Her offer surprised then quickly repulsed him. "What, with her body mutilated and her organs displayed on the autopsy table? Heck yeah, if only I had my camera. Perfect Kodak moment – this way, I get to remember _every bit _of her."

Cuddy winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean –"

House was looking at his watch again. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" he interrupted rudely.

"I'm staying with you." Cuddy set her jaw defiantly and House saw that there was really no bargaining with her. "There's no telling what you're going to do next."

"I'm not about to commit suicide, you know."

A guilty smile appeared reluctantly on Cuddy's face. "Maybe, maybe not. To be honest, I'm more worried about what you're going to do to others."

House was looking at his watch again. _Twenty seconds left…_ "So, you're on suicide slash murder watch," he clarified as airily as possible, which was hard since he felt the insistent pound of his heart as every second passed. _Come on… Ten seconds…_

Cuddy edged closer to him. "I don't want to see you do anything stupid," she whispered. He then levelled her gaze and she almost took an involuntary step back; fire danced eerily in his pupils and his mouth was curving into an inexplicably foul grin.

_Five, four, three, two, one –_

Cuddy jumped as Dr Walker entered the bathroom. He stopped short when he noticed that a female was in the room, and frowned when he saw House.

"Ah, I wasn't aware that I would have an audience when I came in here," Walker said as jovially as possible, glancing from the hospital dean to the inscensed diagnostician.

House smiled and stepped back from his position against the wall. Cuddy ushered herself out of the way quickly. "Nor was I, Matt," he said, words sounding loudly guttural.

"How did you know I was coming here?"

"You're predictable. Every day, three o'clock, you go to the bathroom." House gave Walker a moment to digest this. "Don't follow routine, Matt. It's dangerous." His eyes glinted.

Cuddy chose this moment to interject. "House. Come on, lets go." She laid a hand on his arm and tried leading him away, but he merely shook her off, keeping focussed entirely on Walker.

"Remember what you said about not wanting to see me do something stupid?" House reminded Cuddy as he lurched toward the CDC Director.

Cuddy gulped audibly and Walker shot her a worried look. "Yes," she answered warily.

"You might want to look away now."

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

"Wilson!"

Chase skidded to a halt when he caught sight of the oncologist, who was tending to a patient in one of the many overcrowded wards, where a flurry of activity was going on. Doctors rushed about, nurses called out commands to underlings who obeyed fervently and the scene was just a basic mish-mash of drama, dying and disease. The guilt-tripped Australian resisted the urge to simply throw himself into the throng.

"You've got to come now," Chase said, forcibly dragging Wilson off his patient, instead. Wilson's eyes widened uncomprehendingly, noting the urgency in Chase's voice, and he flung the stethoscope back over his neck; the patient was stable for now, anyway.

"What is it?" Wilson followed the intensivist's careful tread through carts of medical supplies, beds and staff. "Is it Foreman? Is he infected?"

"Yes," said Chase, and Wilson fancied he heard some unrelenting emotion pent up behind the answer. "But this is not about Foreman. It's about House."

Wilson's head jerked up. "What? Is he infected too? What happened?"

Chase sighed. He hated being the bringer of bad news; it was always a minimally emotional matter to deliver the news of someone's death to their family, since he didn't know them. But dealing with colleagues and friends… "Stacy's dead." Chase forced his voice to be steady.

"…What?"

Chase nodded in verification of the fact. "It was sudden. Apparently, she caught the disease somehow, and the incubation period miraculously decreased in her case and now she's dead and House –"

Wilson groaned. "Does he know?"

"Of course."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. Cameron's gone to find him."

"And you don't approve?"

Chase was startled. "What makes you say that?"

Wilson gave a knowingly crooked grin. "When we find them, you can get her back. After all, that's what you got me for, right? To lend Greg some emotional support so it leaves Cameron free to go off with you?"

Chase quickly lifted his jaw before scurrying after Wilson down the hallway. He tried not to dwell on the fact that he didn't like the way Wilson had phrased his thoughts on the situation.

Besides, he only wanted Cameron to 'go off with him' to solve the case. It was all to resolve his guilt over ignoring Foreman for so long; solve the case, save everybody, get the quarantine lifted, get the hell away from all these people – those were his priorities.

He kept telling himself this as he filled Wilson in on the case so far.

"Well, we ruled out Ebola long ago and came to the conclusion that it was Marburg Fever, but now…"

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

"You are not authorized to enter this area."

Cameron had argued with the guard for the past fifteen minutes. He was denying her entry to the morgue. It wasn't until she logically applied the fact that if she wasn't allowed to go in, then House wouldn't be given clearance either. Glaring once more at the guard, she shot him the bird and ran off to vent her frustration elsewhere.

The hospital was big. House could be anywhere. Chase was counting on her to come back to help him with the case. Foreman was dying…

Her absent-mindedness caused her to nearly trip over several medical supplies and sheets that were strewn across the floor. A nurse was stooped over, picking them up hastily, muttering angrily to herself.

"… No respect… thinks he can just bang his cane around and get everyone to move out of his way…"

So House had passed this way. Cameron felt her heart trill as she followed his supposed path down the hallway. He had to be close by somewhere.

"Nor was I, Matt."

The immunologist froze when she heard his voice (though faintly). Back-tracking several steps, she came to a stop outside the men's room, the little stick figure symbol seeming to ward her from entering the forbidden confines of the room. And House was obviously in there with Walker… another male, doing whatever males did in the privacy of the bathroom.

Cameron debated on whether to just burst in – or wait for House to finish – until she picked up on a distinctly feminine voice percolating through the door.

"House. Come on, lets go." Cuddy. What was the hospital dean doing in the men's room?

_Well_, thought Cameron feeling oddly resigned, _if Cuddy can go into the men's restroom whenever she wants, then I can too. _

And with that, she pushed open the door and let herself in.

"You might want to look away now."

It was House. And he didn't sound pleased.

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

"… but Ebola is usually misdiagnosed for typhoid in the early stages, or even malaria. Could be one of those."

"Typhoid explains the fever, but not the bleeding fingers… and the incubation period varies with these patients – look at what happened to Stacy. But it also explains the rash and haemorrhaging…"

Wilson grabbed Chase's arm and steered him sharply to the left. The intensivist asked no questions but followed unconditionally. They picked their way over a nurse who had just straightened after picking up a pile of spare medical supplies and carried on down the hall.

"Do you think it could be BHF?" Chase muttered thoughtfully as he strode after Wilson. "Symptoms include headaches, blood spots and fever. Bleeding gums and epistaxis are also consistent with the description of BHF."

The oncologist frowned. "The onset of black typhus is slower than Ebola… but it could be the mystery disease. Unfortunately, it's also a level four in the biosafety chart – like Ebola. We're dealing with lethal stuff, here."

Chase made a 'Really!' face at the older doctor then shook his head. "Ok, so it could be BHF, and it could also be –"

"GREG!"

Wilson's arm shot out and caught Chase right in the chest, sending poof of air out of his mouth. Chase was momentarily thrown backward, and had just enough time to recover his breath before catching sight of Wilson darting into the men's room to his left.

"House, no!"

Chase ran into the bathroom. He blinked in surprise when he saw Cuddy and Cameron screaming themselves hoarse by the sinks. Then a white lab-coated body came flying his way and he sidestepped as neatly as possible to avoid a collision.

"House!" Cameron had caught hold of the diagnostician's arm in a desperate bid to stop him from advancing. He didn't even bother trying to shake her off; he extended the arm that held his cane and forcefully brought it down on Walker's decrepit body. The CDC doctor took three hits before rolling out of the way.

"Greg –" Wilson started in a soothing tone, only to catch Cameron as House threw her off his arm, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. House advanced on Walker again, who was now standing and holding his fists out defensively. They traded blows, landing House into a sink, narrowly missing smashing his head into the mirror. He did hit a tap, though. Clenching his jaw to keep from crying out, House staggered to his feet, just as Walker aimed a kick to his groin. _This_ had him crying out.

Cuddy and Cameron gasped in unison and Wilson strode angrily up to Walker, murderous intent in his eyes, but Chase got there first. He hadn't identified what his body was doing until he felt his knuckles crack against the side of Walker's head. Walker reeled, caught off guard, then turned to face his second aggressor. Chase was so pumped with adrenaline that he didn't know whether to feel scared or not – a wanton thought of Cameron telling him he was a weakling waltzed into his buzzing brain, filling him with the sudden aggressive urge that dispelled all his and fuelled his muscles for an all-out brawl.

"Chase, don't –"

Cuddy didn't finish her sentence as Walker threw himself at Chase and he fell backwards into a cubicle, his head exploding in little sparkly white lights as it connected with the toilet. The Englishman grabbed the lapels of the Australian's lab coat roughly and hoisted him upright. Chase had enough brain cells to tell him to resist the other doctor's pull.

"I'm not fighting you," Walker said severely as Chase jerked out of his grip. "Your boss just –"

Chase barrelled his foot into Walker's abdomen before he could get any further. The other doctor was propelled away from the opening of the cubicle. Wilson immediately fell on him, grasping his arms firmly in case he tried to take another swing at anyone else.

"You idiots," Walker spat at Chase and Wilson. "I wasn't even attacking you! House just started beating me for no reason when I got in here!"

"You'd better calm yourself, Doctor Walker," Wilson murmured, slowly releasing him. Chase poised himself for another attack, but none came. He felt Cameron coming to stand closer to him, her face set defiantly, also ready for a fight if one came. Her presence was lost on him, however, when House finally limped into view, supporting himself heavily on his cane, demanding all the attention in the room.

He looked at Walker, and they sized each other up, breathing shallow and slight. The fragile atmosphere was shattered by House snapping out his hand and smashing it into Walker's jaw with full force. The Englishman yelped and fell backwards. But House had already turned, rendering him of no more importance, and left the room. Wilson cast one glance at Walker's gob-smacked (no pun intended) form, then fled the wrecked bathroom after his best friend.

Cuddy spluttered at the damage done to the room around them and glared at Walker accusingly. He seemed to shrink at the look in her eyes, and wilted further when he heard House's disembodied voice drift in from the hallway beyond.

"Just remember: all secrets come out eventually."

The comment was aimed at Walker, but Chase found himself meeting the eyes of Cameron by his side. They held each other's gaze for a fraction of a second before glancing away, flushing.

By way of silent agreement, both doctors left the broken scene together, quiet and thoughtful. They had some things to talk about, but now was not the time.

_It really was as House had said_, Chase thought pensively, permitting himself to sneak a peek at Cameron's tired – but nonetheless – attractive features, and allowing forbidden desires to arise within him secretly as a result.

_All secrets come out eventually._

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_**A.N.** I've been TERRIBLE at updating lately, and I'm sooo sorry! This chapter was about 4000 words, and I was going to separate it, but decided not to. And I couldn't get the ruler to work in the document area, so I used those dashes instead - sorry about that._

_**I'm really grateful to all my reviewers and readers – you guys ROCK.**_

_**Anyway, you know the drill… Review.**_

**Daygoner**


	15. Chapter 15

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

_**A.N.** I didn't reply to any reviews this time - sorry! - but there is a long A.N. at the end. In the mean time - ENJOY!_

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**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Fifteen: Riding to Realization

_All secrets come out eventually._

"How did you know that he was going into that exact bathroom? There are loads around the hospital – how did you know he'd pick that one?"

"I like to call it: Men's Intuition."

Wilson gave a dry laugh and took the seat behind his desk as House settled in one of the chairs opposite. "Seriously, House."

"I haven't been more serious in my life. I mean, _now's_ hardly the time to laugh, is it?"

Ack. There was no diverting this man. Wilson ran a hand through his hair, wondering what to say, whilst House – in an attempt to quell his simmering anger – massaged the knuckles he had used to pummel Walker with.

The pain was a good thing, the brooding diagnostician thought to himself silently; it took his mind off the present for a while… not that Wilson was going to let that happen. Rolling his eyes, House averted his attention back to the oncologist, who was debating with himself at what to say next, and saved him the trouble.

"Ah, for once, no-one has a speech rehearsed beforehand. No 'Don't worry, I'm here for you no matter what' – no 'Your loss is felt deeply by all'… Wait, I think Cuddy tried to pull that one on me, but –"

"Well, to be fair, I don't think she had the speech prepared before she talked to you," said Wilson reasonably, glad that he finally had something to add to the conversation. "Is it so strange that she might have actually meant everything she said to you?"

House released his knuckles and checked over the other bruises on his body. "Of course it is. It's probably just some little scheme to get me to return the favour if she's going through a major blip in the mid-life crisis and needs someone to comfort her. Hmmm, maybe I should have taken notes…"

"She cares about you, House. We all do." Wilson registered a flicker of a response in his friend's eyes before the limping diagnostician blinked – and then carried on massaging his battered leg. He let out a breath through clenched teeth, indicating pain, and Wilson winced.

"Oh no, not you too," House groaned, throwing a hand over his face in a not-so-falsely distraught manner. "I thought you'd have the decency to _not _grace me with the sympathy speech."

Wilson sighed. "It was worth a try. To be honest, I don't really know what to say. I can't imagine what you're going through. And I'm sorry. Stacy was my friend too."

"Having a small imagination bums your chances of becoming a fantasy writer and all – but there's no need to apologise to _me _for it… Are you and Cuddy involved in some sort of coup against me?"

"Er, not that I know of. Why?"

"You keep trying to emotionally ambush me. All this apologising and pity – been around Cameron too long?"

Wilson smirked, welcoming the slight unintentional humour of the situation. "Well, since you're not giving into the ambushing, I might just go get her –"

House hand whipped out and grabbed Wilson's sleeve in a flash. "Don't you dare," he snarled, wild, distressed signals playing across his face. "If you get her, I swear, I'll –"

"So tell me," said Wilson with an open smile. "What exactly are you feeling right now?"

"Terror – in case you get the sea of emotion that is Cameron and drown me in it."

"Come on, House," Wilson said softly, easing the other doctor's fingers from around his wrist. "Just talk to me."

House eyed the oncologist beadily. "Very sneaky, using Cameron to blackmail me."

"I learnt from the best," Wilson said, leaning forward intently.

"Too right you did." House was scowling.

"So, are you gonna talk, or do I really have to throw you to Cameron?"

House let the mortified look from his face slide off to reveal a neutral and bland façade underneath. With his eyes vacant and inexpressive, he opened his mouth… and closed it again, hesitating at what exactly to say. After he had repeated this gesture several times, Wilson sighed and made to leave again (to find Cameron), but House whacked him with his cane and shook his head despondently. "Fine, fine, I'll talk. Seeing as you find me so _interesting_…"

With little or no prompting from his best friend, House settled somewhat comfortably in his chair and began to speak of what he remembered of Stacy Warner; their frequent disagreements, their chemistry, Mark – and how he got in the way of their relationship. He went on to talk about trivial things; like how she liked to wear her hair, what make-up she used, what perfumes she chose, the cross she liked to wear. He listed endless things about her life and his life involving her – but nothing about how he actually felt. It seemed like a release, though; as he carried on talking, his face softened with each passing memory and he lost the hard callousness to his voice.

Wilson watched and listened with unsurprising compassion, House's memories provoking some of his own. To an outsider, the two doctors' 'talk' would look like any mild conversation between two ordinary friends. But, to Wilson, it was a victory (of sorts) to be able to earn a fleeting glance at what exactly was ticking away inside House's mighty brain. And though no real emotion was being expressed, House felt ever so slightly lighter, as he opened up his memory to his friend. It was strange. It was… nice. But this was a one-off thing, of course. He'd never open up like this again. Never.

House finished and Wilson nodded appreciatively. They looked at each other for a long moment, weighing up the newfound respect they had for one another. Then, House coughed, embarrassed.

"If I wrote an autobiography, d'ya think America would be as interested in me as you are?"

"It'd be a bestseller."

"Really?"

"Definitely. Your former patients would want your picture on the front cover to pin on their dart boards."

Pause. "Cool."

"So, what's the title?"

House was fiddling with something in his pocket. "Hmm, I was thinking – Oh, Crap; Chase, Cameron, Cuddy… Clinic Crisis."

"Wow, that's a long, alliterative title."

"No… my pager just went off."

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Chase thought he'd just about reached his saturation point with coffee. Once they had reached House's office, he and Cameron had raided through the meagre supply of food left there and finished it in minutes. However, they found an apparently endless provision of coffee, stashed away in the oddest of places. Cameron tried not to look at the expiration date on the packet as she took the pot of freshly boiled drink and poured some more into her mug.

"I think I've OD-ed on caffeine," Chase moaned, declining any more coffee as Cameron made to top up his mug. She shrugged and replaced the pot on the countertop, returning to her seat to sip her drink methodically. A gulp later, she grimaced and spat some of the black liquid back into her cup.

"Me too," Cameron said faintly, rubbing her throat and setting the steaming mug aside. She shuddered and leant over her papers, an intent look taking hold of her features as she applied herself to reading and theorising. The coffee had left a horrible cloying taste in the back of her mouth, and it was mildly distracting. She cleared her throat a few times.

"What?" Chase thought she was trying to get his attention.

Cameron raised her head. "What?"

"You want to tell me something?"

"No." She frowned a little. "Did _you_ want to say something?"

Strangely, a faint blush was starting to creep up Chase's neck. "No."

Cameron looked at her fellow colleague quizzically. "Are you sure?"

Chase coughed into a fist. "Yes."

"Ok. So, um, what have you come up with so far?"

Chase appeared to be relieved by the new topic of discussion. "Actually, I was talking to Wilson about it earlier on. Could it be BHF?"

Cameron sat back and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "BHF? Hmm, maybe." She strode up to House's precious whiteboard and paused before adding the new theory. "The distribution of black typhus is not worldwide, though," she said, re-capping the pen dejectedly. "It's restricted to Bolivia."

"Checked all the patient's holiday destinations?" Chase asked her hopefully, looking down at his charts. His face fell, however, and he waved a hand at her. "Never mind; this Ashley Moore hasn't left America for the past five years."

Cameron sighed. "How about we stick to the Marburg Fever idea," she said tiredly. "Apart from Ebolavirus, there are no other genera in the filovirdiae family. And filovirii were present in some of the blood, right? So it has to be the Marburg virus."

Chase held his breath for some time before attempting an answer. "But if it is Marburg's," he said quietly, "then Foreman is dead no matter what we do. There's no treatment. There's no cure."

"I know." Cameron closed her eyes and rubbed frustratedly at her temples. "I want it to be something else, I really do. But what other disease could it possibly be?"

"Well, lets think of it this way," said Chase slowly, reviewing his notes. "Some patients had a shorter incubation period in comparison to others. Foreman's been hanging on for a while, now, but Stacy on the other hand –"

"Died soon after getting infected," the immunologist finished crisply, pushing all thoughts of not being able to console House out of her mind. "So, what do you think? Got any explanations?"

"Well, since we're going back on old theories," said Chase after a pause, "Maybe there is more than one virus at work here. We said coccidioidomycosis would explain the haemoptysis, but there are a number of other diseases that could fit the same description."

Cameron uncapped her board pen again. "I suppose… Remember how – when Foreman got infected with Naegleria parasites, but Legionnaires slowed its progression in his body?"

"You're thinking the same thing's going on here?"

"It certainly explains why the incubation period for Stacy was so drastically different from all the other patients."

"Hmm. Well, you're the immunologist, you tell me what the other disease could be."

Cameron spluttered indignantly. "Just because I'm the immunologist, doesn't mean you can just sit around whilst I theorise."

"Ah, but that was the only reason why I wanted you with me in the first place," Chase, grinning.

"No, it's because you're stuck," said Cameron with a deprecating laugh, "You didn't _want _me around; you _needed_ me."

Chase lifted himself from his chair and came to stand beside her. Plucking the pen from her hands, he wrote, 'CCHF' on the board then turned back to her. Moving closer so that he was right in front of her, he held out the pen and passed it into her hands; she took it, making sure their fingers didn't meet. Cameron didn't make an effort to look up at him, instead choosing to stare down at the board marker that she grasped tightly in her palms. She stiffened when Chase bent down slightly to whisper in her ear.

"You're right. I do need you."

The intensivist straightened and brushed past her, leaving her staring at the whiteboard and pondering what exactly his words meant. She read the letters on the board vaguely then forced herself to smile.

"Of course you do," she said lightly. "Who else could tell you that Crimean-Congo haemorrhagic fever is not in the filovirdiae family?" She walked up to erase 'CCHF' but found that Chase was already holding her back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Nuh-uh," he said, not taking his hand off her arm. "What are you doing?"

"CCHF can't possibly be included in our diagnosis since it's in the Bunyaviridae viral family. We're looking for filoviruses."

"True, but we're definitely looking for a viral haemorrhagic fever, right?" Cameron nodded. "It all points to Marburg fever, but that doesn't satisfy all of the symptoms."

"If you mean the bleeding fingers, that could be –"

"Excluding the bleeding, since 'haemorrhagic' generally implies a lot of blood. No, I was referring to – well, do you remember that Doctor Patterson, the one who went a bit psycho on us then spewed half his body fluids across the floor?"

Cameron sighed. "Well, it's not easy to forget."

"Yeah, well, how else would you describe the haemorrhaging and the mood swings? And the sweating? Fever, agitation and vomiting. All the symptoms of CCHF."

Cameron considered his words. Chase glanced at her triumphantly before releasing her elbow. She let her arm hang in the air for an extended moment before allowing it to drift back down to her side as she nodded, admitting defeat. "You're right. Still doesn't explain the filovirii, though."

Chase shrugged. "I told you I needed you."

"Stop saying that," Cameron said sheepishly. She ignored him as he continued to stare at her and began to write something on the whiteboard… then stopped when a thought struck her.

"I think I've got it –"

The immunologist was cut off as Chase's pager went off. Frowning, he glanced at it, taking in the message. Cameron's pager went off soon afterwards and she looked up to meet Chase's eyes.

"Cuddy," Cameron reported.

"They need extra hands in the OR," Chase acknowledged. "The quarantine's causing a lot of problems. We have to go."

"What shall we tell House?" Cameron asked. Chase tried not to roll his eyes at how her one-track mind, though the situation was way off the rails, would always run on that one track. Destination: House.

"Page him to tell him that you know what it is. Fill me in on the way." Chase was already out of the door as Cameron fumbled with her pager. Though loathe to interrupt House's Alone Time, she readily complied, paging her boss as ordered. Then, she followed Chase down the hallway, dreading whatever bloody messes she would meet at the end of the line.

Unnoticed by most, Walker slunk after the two young doctors as they hurried down the hall, talking about the diseases and wondering what was going on in the ORs. He listened interestedly to the woman's babble about her latest theory, then switched off when she started guilt-tripping herself about her colleague. The predictable Australian comforted her, ending any conversation about the topic of infectious disease. Walker rolled his eyes emphatically, then stalked off to House's office. If there was any evidence of their theorising, it would be in there.

The CDC Director was disappointed to find that House's whiteboard was devoid of any notes, save four letters scrawled across it's plain surface. CCHF. Walker contemplated the disease thoughtfully.Then he put up his hands in a 'I give up' gesture and made to leave the office.

Catching sight of the un-drunken coffee sitting on the table by the door, Walker sighed happily and picked up the luke-warm mug, downing the liquid in one go.

He noticed there was something seriously wrong with the coffee a bit too late. Clutching his stomach, he fought the urge to regurgitate the obscenity he had just swallowed, and retched. Picking up an empty packet of coffee and reading the back had Walker squirming even more uncomfortably than before: the expiration date was… oh, God.

Realization finally dawned and doctor hurtled toward the nearest bathroom a few seconds later.

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**_A.N. Faster update this time round. It also means a shorter chapter. Oh, well. Be prepared for a L-O-N-G (but important) Author's Note next…_**

_Right. I've got a confession to make. I've been wanting to delete this story for some time now, especially as I read over some of the material I've previously written. At the least, my writing's been immature and generally not-well-written. It embarrassed me to a great extent. So, I debated on whether to delete the whole of Q is for Quarantine._

_So why haven't I? Well, for a start, I've loved all the reviews I've gotten for the story! I love my readers and all my fans. Though I write for myself and for my own enjoyment, I like to think that I write for your enjoyment also. Your enthusiasm for this story has been so uplifting (even though I sometimes can't get off my lazy ass and update!), and the support has been genuinely appreciated. THANK YOU SOOO MUCH!_

_Having said that, I've got to add that the story will be finishing soon. I'm setting my sights for at least 20 chapters, but I have my doubts. Either way, Q is for Quarantine will come to an end sometime before the start of 2007, as my school term is starting up soon and my schedule has virtually no time for fanfiction this year. Now I'm asking myself: Why did I take Russian? Why?_

_**Readers, reviewers, fans and flamers – well, not flamers – you guys are what a writer writes for. Thanks for all the support and kind words after each chapter. As always: **_

_**YOU GUYS ROCK!**_

**Daygoner**


	16. Chapter 16

DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. But I do watch it religiously.

**A.N. _Yes, if you can believe it – here's the update! Two months late, I suppose, but here all the same. Thanks to patient readers and lovely reviewers…_**

**_A Person_ – **_Aw, thanks for your review! So sweet! And no, I highly doubt that this story is better than anything you could write – anyone can be a good writer! Anyway, thanks for the review and sorry for the long update. Enjoy!_

_**Sara –** I'm glad you feel that way about this story. Don't worry, I've nearly finished the fic – please don't go crazy or die before that! I don't know about House, but I'd be sad if you did! Anyway, have fun with the latest chapter, and thanks again for your review._

_**Microbiologist – **I'm embarrassed to admit that I was blushing sooo heavily when I read your review: ARGH, there are medical experts reading this!!! Don't get me wrong, I'm really glad you gave me advice (sorely needed, I'm afraid to say), and I'll aim to correct the mistakes if I get a chance to rewrite. Thanks for the review, PM me if there are any other stupid mistakes, and enjoy the rest of the fic!_

… _**- **Aw, another really sweet review. I've got three more chapters planned out 'til the end of this story, so, with a little luck, _Q is for Quarantine_ will be done soon. Thank you so much for the review; hope you like the latest chapter!_

_**costa rica – **write another one?! LOL, only if you can put up with painfully long non-updating periods! But, since you seem to love it so much, I'll try my best. Thanks for the words of encouragement – they're greatly appreciated! Enjoy the next chapter!_

_**mo – **yay, new reader! I'm glad you like this; it can be tricky to write Chase since he doesn't feature a lot in the actual show – it's great that you like how I've portrayed him here. Sorry for taking so long to update; hope this chapter was worth waiting for!_

_**Carolyn – **I've updated, I've updated! Don't worry, I'm not giving up yet (still got about three chapters to go!); hope you like the latest instalment and thanks for the review!_

_**Ok, now that's over with - on with the show!**_

* * *

**Q is for Quarantine**

Chapter Sixteen: Rules Are Made To Be Broken

"_Page him to tell him that you know what it is. Fill me in on the way." Chase was already out of the door as Cameron fumbled with her pager. Though loathe to interrupt House's Alone Time, she readily complied, paging her boss as ordered. Then, she followed Chase down the hallway, dreading whatever bloody messes she would meet at the end of the line._

House and Wilson were already working when Chase and Cameron thundered down to the overcrowded clinics precious minutes later. Unfortunately, they had been escorted by stuffy CDC guards, who had insisted on stealing several bottles of blood samples from each of them before allowing them to pass into the realms of the non-infected. Little conversation could be exchanged between them during that time, though they had gleaned from the CDC staff that Foreman and the other quarantine patients were stable for the moment. Cameron's theory looked as though it could be held off until the crisis had passed… or so they hoped.

Once they had reached the floor to which they had been ordered to go, the burgeoning crowd of doctors swelled up and brought them apart like raging waters of the sea. It was hard not to just jump back in the lift and hide in the empty, quiet, quarantined areas to which they had been accustomed to for the past few days.

"Doctor Cameron! Thank God, I thought we'd never get an immunologist over! Come quickly, this way!"

With a regretful glance in Chase's direction, Cameron allowed herself to be pulled away by the fretting nurse. All she caught, however, was the view of Chase's back, as he too submitted to the forceful drag of another doctor on his arm. He paused long enough to send a brief look over his shoulder at his colleague before giving her a slight wave with his free hand and moving on. Cameron sighed, though the beginnings of a soft smile tugged at her rueful cheeks.

"Doctor Cameron, did you hear a word I said?" The nurse glared at her inquisitively.

Cameron stared at her. "Er, yeah – sorry. Flu virus, did you say? Right, well, that can't be good…"

* * *

House was knee deep in wailing infants, fussing mothers and ailing fathers, not to mention he felt like he was drowning in the masses of moody teenagers and demented oldies that were either blaring out their iPods in a corner or waving their canes around angrily at the youngsters. Sighing at the profanity of his current situation, he resisted the constant surge of temptation that prompted him to simply swing his own cane at the flood of patients and watch as they flew away and landed _splat _on the walls. Oh, if only he could break down and mope like all the other wanton fools who had loved ones passing away on them – Cuddy would let him off if she caught him like that. But, then again, it wasn't as if she hadn't offered him not to do this job in the first place…

"_You know, House, if you're still… _lamenting_, then I fully understand. You don't have to work right now if you can't. You can start taking some grievance leave as of today…" The hospital dean trails off, looking sombre yet hopeful at the same time._

"_Now why would I want to do that?" House lifts the corner of his lips in an uneven grin._

_Wilson pops up behind House's back and says something to Cuddy that sounds uncannily like, 'He's fine; don't worry.' She looks relieved. "Well, if you're actually offering to do extra clinic duty…"_

_House grins an unholy grin. "What are you talking about? I _love_ sick people! Sick people are my passion! Hey, where can I get a T-shirt that says that?" _

_Cuddy grins dryly at his remark but still looks worried. "What about the case? Foreman's still –"_

"_Chase and Cameron are on it."_

_Cuddy absorbs this thoughtfully, then nods in agreement. "Ok, Wilson, could you go to Exam Room Three? I think a whole family's been waiting in there for the past few hours… Um, House, if you're _definitely _fine to work, then I'm sending you to Exam Room One."_

_Cuddy turns to leave and House shouts, "I'm expecting a pay rise for this!" She smiles to herself and walks on, listening as the diagnostician limps off to join the throng of waiting patients and rushing doctors. And she thought she'd never see the day when House would offer to do extra clinic duty…_

House sighed to himself. House Rule No.1: Escape clinic duty at all costs… Well, he'd pretty much blasted that principle to hell. How un-Houselike.

Half an hour and four begrudged patients later, he was already sick of it; _this was to be expected_, he berated himself, _no good could possibly come out of breaking any of the 'House Rules.'_

As a result miserable little voice in his head repeated a ridiculous mantra over and over again – _Keep yourself busy, you'll forget all about Stacy… Keep yourself busy, you'll forget all about Stacy – _until he all but wanted to keep working in the Godforsaken hellhole that was: The Clinic.

And what about Foreman? House rubbed his eyes tiredly. By all accounts, the man should be dead by now… and what exactly was he doing about it? Nothing. Nada. Zip. He was – what was the word? Ah, yes – _lamenting_ his misery in the freaking clinic, of all places. Why wasn't he working the case any more? Why wasn't he busting a gut to solve the mystery of all mysteries?

_Detachment,_ he told himself. _I want to work on this case; isn't that what I told Cuddy? It just doesn't seem as worth it as before. It won't bring _her_ back… It's not my turn to save the world. _

Which led onto House Rule No.2: You are a rock, you don't care and you never will.

Hmm, that wasn't exactly coming along well either. Who said rocks were unemotional, anyway?

So what was he doing? Immersing himself in seas of invalids, that's what. Was it helping him? He thought about this. Yes, it was helping him – get a migraine and perhaps the beginnings of a cold. But to forget…?

_That's right, _the little voice squealed inside his brain hysterically, _Keep yourself busy, you'll forget about Stacy; keep yourself busy –_

"Ah, shut up," House grumbled, popping a couple of Vicodin pills into his mouth.

House Rule No.3: …Painkillers are there for a reason.

He collected his cane from where it rested against the examination table and picked up one of the numerous clipboards that were stacked on a chair.

He booted open the door. "Mr Donovan?" he shouted to the crowd of patients. A frowning man stood up and marched over to the diagnostician.

"What's taking so long – I've been waiting here for four hours! Where are all your doctors?!"

"Four hours!" House pretended to be amazed. "Wow, that really sucks for you!" He then leaned in to the man as if about to reveal a dirty secret. "But you know what? I've been stuck in here for four DAYS." He popped another Vicodin. "So, what were you complaining about?"

House Rule No.4: Sarcasm is like Vicodin – use with every patient or case, or whenever you freaking well please. Warning: it's addictive.

* * *

Chase spent a total of two minutes in the clinic; he was then carted off to the OR where several teams of nurses swarmed around him, grim looks adorning their faces. He took a brief moment to get changed out of his grubby lab coat and into the formal scrub-wear before stumbling back out onto the scene again.

"What have we got?" he asked a senior nurse a little breathlessly.

"You want the whole list or just the case you'll be working on for the next fifteen minutes?" she replied to him quite frankly. He lifted an eyebrow in puzzlement.

"Er, how long is the list?"

The nurse mirrored his expression by raising her own eyebrow. She straightened her shoulders stiffly, eerily echoing the pose that Chase assumed when he had to perform a particularly long poem recital or speech. Oh, God.

"You know what, never mind," Chase said wearily, stopping her before she could begin. "Who's first?"

The nurse checked her clipboard. "Mr Carter, due for a pancreaticoduodenectomy… and has been waiting for one for the past five hours."

Chase's eyes widened, recalling her earlier words. "You want me to do a Whipple's procedure in _fifteen minutes_?"

The nurse managed a wry laugh. "Not unless you want a dead patient on your hands!"

"Look, I'm an intensivist, not a surgeon – maybe it'd be better if you get a more experienced doctor to do the job quicker –"

"Doctor Chase," the nurse interjected firmly, "you're the only additional doctor we've seen down here in the past few hours. And you know how many doctors we got working down here? I could count them on one hand, Doctor Chase, _one hand_. The patients are outnumbering us three to one. Right now, I'd take anyone I can get, and if that means getting an intensivist to assist in a Whipple's, he'll damn right assist in a Whipple's. Are we clear?"

Chase gulped. "Crystal."

The nurse nodded approvingly. "Good. Let's get started. Now, where's the Goddamn patient?" she fired-off at the surrounding nurses.

Chase tugged at his collar nervously as he entered the cool interiors of the operating room. The senior nurse barked orders at her team and they busied themselves with prepping the patient for surgery. Surgery, right… hmmm…

"Doctor Chase, we're waiting."

He sighed and made his way to the table.

And the operation began.

* * *

"Hey – hey, Richardson! Send this sample off for an IFA, will you?"

"Do it yourself. I've got better things to do."

"But I haven't had a break in two hours!"

"My heart bleeds for you…"

"Hey, man, seriously – I gotta pee. I'm bursting. Please."

"It doesn't take that long to get the sample to – why are you ordering an IFA anyway?"

"Says in the subject's history that they had an ELISA one done a couple of months ago… due for another test soon. Now, could you please cover for me while I go for a-"

"Did they test positive?"

"Negative, duh! Otherwise I wouldn't be testing them again, would I?"

"No, moron, I meant: what were the results with the tests from _your_ ELISA?"

"Oh. Inconclusive. That's why we need to do an IFA… (_and you're calling me a moron!_)"

"Do a Western blot."

"What? Yeah, ok, whatever you say! Just send the sample up for me so that I can go–"

"So, are you doing a Western blot or not?"

"Yes! Yes, I am! Now, could you please–?!"

"Ok, ok, I'll do it. What's the subject's name?"

"Thanks, dude – I owe you one. Uh, the subject's name? Wait, wait, I've got it here… It's Cameron. A. Cameron."

"A. Cameron. Right. I'll send it right up."

* * *

"Chase!"

The dishevelled intensivist had just emerged from several intense hours of surgery, most of which he had only assisted in since he couldn't really perform fast-paced surgery to save his life… or the patient's, for that matter. In the end, an extremely vexed surgeon sent him on his merry way back to the clinic, with the consoling words, '…and don't come back again!' Humph. Chase could do surgery. Just not at lightening speed. And that bloody surgeon worked at a rate that would have put NASA rockets to shame. Geez.

"What?" the Australian snapped, irately tugging the theatre cap off his head and ruffling his severely-mussed hair. He turned to look for the source of the voice.

Cuddy was desperately weaving through the mass of people to get to him. Her hair was equally messy, if not messier than his, and her stethoscope was dangling perilously off one shoulder. She moved forward haphazardly and it fell off completely.

"Argh, dammit. Chase, wait!" She bent and picked up her fallen stethoscope. "Have you just come down from the ORs?"

He let the scrubs under his lab coat answer her question, but she was too busy securing her stethoscope back around her neck to spare a glance at his attire. "Yeah," he sighed, stuffing his cap into his pocket.

"Good. I need you to help House in the clinic. I don't know where Cameron is, but I've been paging her since four this morning. She won't answer, but since you're here, you can fill in."

Chase frowned. "Cameron won't answer her pages?"

"No. Do you know where she is?"

"No."

Cuddy released a sigh and fiddled with the rubber tubing of her stethoscope. "I didn't think she was the kind of person to abandon her job at a time like this… Anyway, go find House. I think he's over his head in the clinic. Check Exam Room One."

"…Ok."

"Thanks, Chase."

The hospital dean left Chase in a flurry of frizzy hair and flying stethoscopes. Whilst she went back to tending to her patients, Chase made his way down to the clinic, as ordered. He kept an eye out for a certain brunette immunologist but soon found himself too immersed in the sea of patients that rushed up to meet him that he couldn't even make out his own two feet on the floor beneath him. Glancing about, he spotted Wilson trying to communicate with a Chinese woman in the corner of the waiting lounge. She was gesturing at her swollen abdomen rather fiercely and gabbling away in Cantonese loud enough to turn heads. Chase's mouth twitched minutely; poor Wilson.

Chase knocked on the door to Exam Room One before entering abruptly. "House, Cuddy sent me to –"

"Chase!" Chase hadn't heard House sound so relieved in all the time he'd known him. He also hadn't anticipated the angry wails that assaulted him as soon as he entered. God, what was House doing to his patients? "Here ya go!"

"What? Humph–!" Chase gasped as a heavy weight descended on his arms and the noise around him rose by several decibels. It took a moment for his fuzzy brain to register that the 'heavy weight' was actually a baby. An ambulance-siren-imitating baby. He looked at House. "What do you expect me to do with–?"

"Make the damn thing stop!"

"How?!"

"I don't know – just do it!"

Chase scowled at his boss and started to gently rock the wailing child. "Where's its mother?"

"Did you see Wilson outside?"

"Yes."

"Did you see that Chinese woman with him?"

"Oh. Her."

"Yeah, her. I _think_ she said that she thinks she has cancer. At least, that's what I'd assume after she yelled 'cancer, cancer, cancer; tooma, tooma, tooma!' at me for about twenty minutes before Wilson hauled her off. And she gave me this," House proceeded to wave a pregnancy test under Chase's nose, the pink line indicating that it was positive.

Chase looked bemused. "…'Tooma'?"

"Tumour."

"Ah, right… So she thinks she has a tumour, but she's actually pregnant."

"You've finally connected the dots, genius."

Instead of responding, Chase smiled faintly at this. He felt an insistent tug on his lab coat and had to gently dislodge the baby's prying fingers from the lapels of his clothing. The child had – thankfully – stopped crying and was now eyeing the pens in Chase's breast-pocket with great interest.

"Aw, I knew you'd be good with him," House cooed sweetly. Chase snorted to himself in distaste; 'sweet' was the last word anyone would associate with House. Whatever his boss was about to say, it wouldn't be good.

"What made you think that?" the intensivist asked warily.

House threw the lone duckling an impish look. "Oh, only because you two share the same mental capacity and all."

House never failed to disappoint. Chase wore an _Oh, haha _expression. His attention was stolen, however, when he started an energetic wrestling match with the baby, who was in danger of impaling his eyeball with the end of the biro he had stolen out of the doctor's pocket. Chase successfully wrested the pointy object from the infant's little fingers, only to have him reach for another once he had set the first down on the table. God, where was the damn child-proofing on those things? Did biros even come child-proofed?

"No," Chase told the baby sternly, sliding the pen out of its mouth and grimacing slightly. He tossed the saliva coated biro at House who dodged promptly, scowling. The baby blinked once, twice, three times… then opened its mouth and started to howl.

"No – no, aw come on! Here's the pen, here's the pen – please stop crying; look at the biro! You want the biro? Here, here, here's the biro!"

Fortunately for Chase and House, the mother chose to burst in seconds later to claim her child. She all but snatched the infant from Chase's arms and fled the room, uttering curses in her language as she went. Wilson was standing outside, looking as though he had just been harassed by a rabid bear.

House stuck his head out of the door as the pregnant lady was leaving. "Put a sock in it!" he shouted, causing a few people to look at the incriminated child in the woman's arms as it shrieked relentlessly. "No, not the kid," House amended loudly, addressing the woman, "You heard of protection? No? Well, you'd better learn fast, 'cause God knows America could do with one less howling _brat_."

The diagnostician stepped back into the examination room and closed the door quickly, letting out a long breath as though he'd just run a marathon reach the place.

"You handled that well," Chase remarked, wiping the saliva off the pen he had just retrieved off the floor with a tissue.

House tossed the woman's pregnancy test into a bin. "Did you hear that kid? The amount of air he could pack into his little lungs… puts Mariah Carey to shame. I hope the next one's not as bad – kinda makes you wish she really did have cancer, doesn't it? God forbid, she's having another child…"

"House!"

"What? It's not my fault those kids are the spawns of the devil… or, more likely, the spawns of some unholy cross between Britney and Justin. Remind me to bring my earplugs to work next time, ok?"

Chase rolled his eyes. It was the only response he could muster at that point as he stood, leaning against the examination table, cleaning the baby-spit off his soggy biro. House had taken to twirling his cane mutely, a common pastime for him whilst he was thinking. Chase found that he was glad for the pen in his hands; he needed something to fiddle with in the silence. Being in the same room as House meant that there was virtually no room for even the concept of silence – the man could say anything to ignite a conversation (or, more likely, an argument) and probably couldn't live through a day without _some_ form of banter passing through his lips. Chase stared at his sticky pen. Hmm, well, this wasn't the slightest bit awkward, was it?

"Look, Chase, about yesterday," said House in a sudden rush, "You know, in the bathroom with Walker? I just wanted to say – well – you… you throw crap punches." He finished the sentence lamely, stopping his cane mid-whirl and staring at it forlornly. Chase merely nodded, not wanting to relive the events that transpired in the bathroom brawl. Too late, his hand had crept out on its own accord and touched the thrashed side of his head gingerly, setting off a hot burst of pain that frazzled his frayed nerve-endings. He winced, and resolved to find some Tylenol later.

"…I suppose I owe you thanks anyway. You know, for _trying_ to defend me and all," House added in a low murmur and Chase looked up at him sharply, blinking in puzzlement. "And I must admit – your kick looked mega effective. Brings out the kangaroo in you, Wombat."

"… You're thanking me?" Chase ignored the endearing marsupial comparisons, almost reeling in the shock of House's apparent desire to show some form of gratitude. He wasn't even aware that that word was listed in House's internal dictionary.

"No, I _owe_ you my thanks. That implies that it has yet to be delivered." House abruptly started to twirl his cane again, cocky grin firmly back in place.

Chase snorted at the typical evasive remark. "Then I'm gonna assume that it's lost in the mail."

House's grin widened. "I'm impressed; sarcasm _and _taking up the use of my metaphor. Very good."

Chase felt like a student who had been praised by a particularly strict teacher. A little glow of warm satisfaction settled in his stomach and he dimly noted that it was just about the most positive feeling he'd experienced in the past few days, save all the times he'd spent alone with –

"Cameron." Chase slipped his biro back into his pocket and pushed off the table, positive feelings diminished like water to a flame. He caught House's attention. "Do you know where she is? Cuddy's been paging her for a while, but she hasn't been responding."

House cocked an eyebrow. "I thought she was with you. Weren't you two meant to be theorising about –?"

"Yes… And she had it. She thinks she knows what the disease is," Chase admitted quietly.

House's mood shifted perceptibly. "…And you kept quiet about this because…?"

Chase looked mildly sheepish. "I, uh, assumed you didn't want to hear anything more about the case. You know, since –"

House rolled his eyes emphatically. "Save it, Chase. I've got Cuddy and Wilson to ride me about – about Stacy. But Cameron thinks she's got it? Why the hell hasn't she told anyone?"

House was already out of the door before Chase could find an answer to his question. He leapt up after his boss. "Well, Cuddy said there were emergencies –"

"Since when was clinic duty more important than one of _my_ cases?" House asked him shrewdly, almost stamping on a group of little children in his haste to flee the clinic. Wilson was nowhere in sight and Chase briefly wondered if he'd finally been engulfed by the ocean of patients that surrounded them.

"And what about Foreman?" Chase swallowed at House's words.

"He was stable when we last checked," he muttered.

House grunted. "I don't like the past tense in that sentence."

"What are we going to do?"

House stopped walking suddenly, a little frown creasing his forehead. That stupid, whiney inner-voice-thing was back. _Don't do this, don't do this! Don't go back on the case. It won't bring her back, and you know it._

House Rule No.5: Emotional constipation is the key to a successful career. Steer clear of emotional laxatives such as Doctor Cameron; take sparingly with plenty of water – crying is a common side-effect.

"House? What are we going to do?"

"Do? What are we going to do?" House started to walk again. "Let's go save the world."

* * *

Cameron had spent a majority of the day in the ER. After working on one patient in the clinic, she found herself whisked off into the Emergency Rooms. It was strange, working in amongst the flood of blood and broken bones, crazily beeping monitors and loud defibrillators. She couldn't help wondering why Chase wasn't in her place; he was, after all, an intensivist. She sighed. Perhaps she should page him over now?

Three extremely tricky cases later and she was about as sick of blood as ever. Ever since the HIV scare, blood hadn't been her favourite of fluids, but she was a doctor. She got over it. Spending hours in the lab staring at blood samples does that to you.

"Doctor Cameron? Is there a Doctor Cameron in here?"

She looked up, stripping her hands of the soiled gloves. "That's me. What is it?"

The doctor, who was donning a badge that declared he was working for some department of the CDC, nodded at her grimly and motioned for her to follow him. Mystified, she told a nurse where she was going and left through the doors.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but I have a lot of things to do. If you could make this quick, I'd really appreciate it." Cameron glanced at the doctor, prompting him to hurry up.

"Then I will get straight to the point… You are aware that samples of your blood underwent ELISA testing a few months ago, yes?"

The atmosphere changed dramatically. A different kind of tension filled the air as Cameron's lungs constricted tightly in her chest and her heart lurched. She nodded for the doctor to continue, her throat too dry to muster words.

"The CDC have performed the necessary secondary tests to your previous ELISA."

He paused. Cameron resisted the urge to thump the information out of him. The suspense was killing her. "Well?"

The doctor in front of her sighed. "Our ELISA results were inconclusive. Either way, we'll be conducting an immunofluorescence assay and a Western blot to make sure of things; the results will be back in a few days, but there is a chance that you're still negative. In the meantime, all you can do is wait… Doctor Cameron, are you alright?"

_Human existence must be some kind of error; every day it gets worse and worse until the worst of all happens. _A pessimistic quote by a pessimistic man, Cameron had always thought. But, oh, how appropriate it was for how she was feeling right then and there.

Was this the worst thing that could happen? The hospital was quarantined, House had lost Stacy, Foreman was dying (or even dead – she wouldn't know) and _she_ _might have HIV_. 'Are you alright?' he asks. Well…

"Fine," Cameron replies blandly, as if on automaton. "I'm absolutely fine."

Abandoning all the patients that she had planned to see, she strode mechanically down the hallway. And again she asked herself, was this the worst thing that could happen?

_Yes. It was._

* * *

**A.N. **_...HIV tests probably take a lot longer than what I've written in this fic – but, for the purposes of this story, HIV results will be coming through to you in the next couple of chapters!_

_Again, sorry for the long update (… and be prepared for another one…)._

_And just to let you know: reviews make my day! _

**Daygoner**


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